


ruin my life

by acrookedsaint



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, barchie, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24436552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrookedsaint/pseuds/acrookedsaint
Summary: There’s one thing that everybody in Riverdale knows - Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews hate each other.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 104
Kudos: 210





	1. pushing me close to the edge

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to the editor for encouraging me always (and for her spectacular ideas). we're in this for the long haul!! ;)

‘I just don’t get it,’ Kevin says, staring out Betty’s bedroom window in amazement. ‘You live next door to _Archie Andrews_ and you act like it’s nothing.’

Betty rolls her eyes. ‘It _is_ nothing.’

‘You two,’ continues Kevin, like she hadn’t even spoken, ‘should be best friends. You should be the couple that everyone hates looking at in school.’

Betty fights back another eyeroll. 

‘You should be sickenly in love!’ Kevin announces, and then frowns at the outfit Betty’s wearing. ‘Not _that_ shirt.’

‘Ah yes,’ says Betty, having heard this rant many times over. ‘The boy and girl next door.’

‘You’re the boy and girl next door!’ Kevin says, far too loudly. ‘You shouldn’t be mortal enemies!’

‘But we are Kev,’ Betty says. ‘And that’s not going to change.’

‘The two core truths of Riverdale,’ Kevin states. ‘Pop’s is the only place we can eat out, and Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews hate each other.’

Betty laughs. It’s true, and for as long as she can remember that’s been the way it is. Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews, who’ve lived next door to each other their entire lives, but who have hated each other with the fiery passion of hell for almost that long too.

‘Some things never change, Kev,’ Betty says, and then frowns at Kevin’s lack of response. ‘Are you even listening to me?’

‘Oh. My. God.’ Kevin says, still staring out Betty’s window. ‘This is a total gamechanger!’

Betty frowns. ‘What is?’

‘Archie got hot!’

Betty snorts. ‘No way.’ She looks out the window.

There’s no denying it. Archibald Andrews, the bane of her existence, has, in fact, gotten _hot_.

‘Well,’ says Kevin smugly. ‘You can’t hate him now.’

‘Of course I can,’ Betty says, and shuts her curtains with a bang.

* * *

Pop’s isn’t busy at this time in the night, and Betty is almost grateful for the quiet. 

Almost being the key word.

Kevin is oblivious to her stony stares and pointed silence. All he can talk about is Archie Andrews, and Betty has never wanted to punch someone in the face more. 

‘What do you think happened to Jason Blossom?’ Betty says, interrupting Kevin’s tirade about the abundance of gorgeous straight guys in town. ‘Do you think he’s dead?’

Kevin frowns. ‘They scoured the river for him. My dad was _there_.’

‘Yeah,’ says Betty. ‘But they didn’t find him.’

‘And that’s good?’ Kevin sighs, propping his chin on his hand. ‘If they didn’t find him...it’s because he _can’t_ be found.’

‘Or maybe,’ Betty says, leaning forward and lowering her voice, ‘maybe he doesn’t want to be found.’

Kevin arches an eyebrow. ‘Why wouldn’t he want to be found?’

Betty shrugs. ‘Maybe he ran away and staged the boating accident.’

Kevin shakes his head. ‘You didn’t see Cheryl at the river. She was utterly heartbroken, and she’s not _that_ good of an actress.’

He chokes. ‘Oh my god. Who _is_ that?’

Betty turns around, there walking through the door is the most extravagant person she’s ever seen. ‘Is she wearing a hooded cape?’ she asks, but she’s not sure if she really wants to know the answer.

‘She is,’ says Kevin breathlessly. ‘And she’s pulling it off _flawlessly_.’

The girl makes her way to the booth where Betty and Kevin are sitting. ‘She’s coming over here,’ Kevin hisses. ‘What do we do?’

Betty shoots him a glare, and puts on her best welcoming smile anyway. 

‘Hi!’ says the girl, pulling her hood back from her head. Up close, Betty can see that she’s got a strand of pearls around her neck. ‘How are the onion rings here?’

‘They’re the best,’ Kevin says, sitting up straighter. ‘And you are?’

The girl smiles, showing off teeth as white as her pearls. ‘I’m Veronica Lodge.’

She turns to Pop, ordering onion rings to go with whatever else she came to pick up. She seems completely oblivious to Betty’s silent revelation. 

Betty almost snorts. ‘ _You’re_ Veronica Lodge?’

‘Yes.’ the girl says, eyeing Betty up and down. ‘And you are?’

‘Betty Cooper,’ Betty answers. She can’t believe that _this_ is Veronica Lodge. This girl is too put together, too sophisticated to the daughter of the man sent to jail for his crimes against humanity.

‘Oh,’ says Veronica. ‘You’re-’

‘Giving you your tour tomorrow.’ Betty finishes, and offers Veronica a sliver of a smile. ‘I guess now I don’t have to guess what you look like.’

‘I guess you don’t,’ replies Veronica, looking vaguely uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t catch your name.’

‘I’m Kevin,’ Kevin says, reaching out his hand for a shake, ‘and I’m-’

‘Gay!’ Veronica squeals. ‘Thank god! Let’s be best friends.’

Kevin widens his eyes and turns to Betty with a grin. ‘I love her already.’

‘Oh the feeling’s totally mutual,’ Betty snipes back, but neither of them seem to notice her sarcasm. 

The doorbell twinkles again and Betty casts a quick look over her shoulder. Maybe it’ll be her mother, striding in to demand that Betty return home after staying out too late. She checks the clock - it’s only 7. An Alice appearance seems unlikely. Unfortunately. 

Archie Andrews waltzes through the door like he owns the place. Betty fights back a groan and sinks into her seat. Maybe he won’t see them. Maybe she’ll be able to avoid another tedious interaction like the once she’s been forced into now. 

No such luck. Kevin spots Archie over her shoulder and gives an enthusiastic wave. ‘Archie!’ he calls. ‘Over here! There’s someone I want you to meet!’

Archie turns the same time that Veronica does. 

And then it’s like something straight out of a movie. Their eyes lock on each other, breath suddenly knocked from their bodies. Kevin has hearts in his eyes, his hands clasped together in front of him. Betty thinks she might wretch. She play acts vomiting. Kevin shoots her a look.

‘Archie Andrews,’ he says triumphantly, ‘meet Veronica Lodge!’

‘Hi,’ says Archie, nose and eyebrows scrunching together in a way that most people might find adorable but that Betty just finds annoying. ‘I’m Archie.’

‘I know,’ giggles Veronica, shaking his hand. ‘I’m Veronica.’

‘I know,’ says Archie, with a dumbstruck grin. 

Their hands stay together for long enough that it becomes uncomfortable. For Betty, that is. Kevin looks like he’s just won the lottery. Betty thinks she might _actually_ puke. 

She coughs loudly. Archie and Veronica break away from each other long enough to see that she and Kevin have not, in fact, vanished off the face of the earth in order to give them privacy. 

‘Oh,’ says Archie, smile disappearing from his face. ‘Elizabeth.’

‘Archibald,’ Betty replies. 

And then _they_ glare at each other long enough that it begins to become uncomfortable. 

‘Well,’ says Veronica, noticing the tension in the air. ‘I really should grab my order and get home. My mother’s waiting for me.’

‘I’ll walk with you,’ Archie says immediately, and at Kevin’s glare, Betty refrains from rolling her eyes. 

They exit Pop’s, food in hand, and Betty turns to Kevin with a scowl. ‘What was _that?_ ’ she snaps.

Kevin’s smile is a little over the top. ‘That, my dear friend, is what we call matchmaking.’

Betty frowns. ‘You barely know Veronica. How do you know that she and Archie would be a good match? The probability of that is something I wouldn’t even want to calculate.’

Kevin grins. ‘There are things, Betty darling, that one just _knows_.’

‘Right...’ Betty says, trailing off. ‘Do you really think that Jason Blossom’s dead?’

Kevin groans. ‘We’re back to this again?’

Betty grins. ‘We’re back to this again.’

* * *

The next day dawns, bright and clear. Betty feels more excited for school than she has in a long time. She’s finally running the school paper all by herself, free reign on all the articles she wants at her disposal. She’s got Kevin by her side, and if she plays her cards right she can get him to write a gossip column or something. 

And, for the first time _ever_ , she’s trying out for cheerleading, despite her mother’s strong objections. 

It’s going to be a good year. She can feel it.

* * *

‘All I’m saying is that Betty and Archie have hated each other for as long as anyone can remember. It’s just the way it is. The way it’s _always_ been _.’_

‘I don’t get it,’ Veronica says. ‘Why?’

Betty groans. ‘Can we please talk about something else?’

‘No,’ Kevin and Veronica say together. 

‘I need to know how much you hate him if we’re going to be best friends B.’ Veronica says, oblivious to the fact that Betty had no idea they were going to be best friends. ‘Because the things I would do for Archie Andrews…’ she trails off suggestively. Betty wants to puke again.

‘Let’s put it this way,’ Kevin says. ‘As long as you keep Betty and Archie away from each other, you’ll be fine. They’re like wild animals - as long as they don’t interact, no fighting or animosity of any kind will have to be dealt with.’

Betty frowns. She wouldn’t exactly call herself a ‘wild animal’. Just because she doesn’t think that Archie Andrews is all that great doesn’t mean that _she’s_ the monster. 

‘So,’ Veronica says, raising her eyebrows, once again oblivious to Betty’s silent tirade. ‘I’m thinking of asking him to the dance. Thoughts?’

‘I don’t have any,’ Betty replies. ‘You can do what you want.’

Veronica beams, and Betty is suddenly sorry that she’d wanted to puke before. She doesn’t know Veronica, not really, but there’s something that draws Betty to her, a kind of magnetism. ‘I’ll ask him,’ she decides out loud. ‘After cheerleading tryouts.’ 

‘You’re trying out?’ Betty asks.

Veronica grimaces. ‘I _know_ what you’re thinking, but I love cheerleading, and-’

‘No,’ says Betty. ‘You don’t know what I’m thinking.’

Veronica frowns. ‘You want to try out?’

Betty grins. ‘Are you kidding me? I’d love to! I’m _planning_ to. It’d look great on my college applications. The only thing is that my mother hates cheerleading - it probably has to do with the fact that Polly was one.’

‘And Alice Cooper is not someone you want to cross,’ adds Kevin.

‘Wait,’ says Veronica, ‘go back. Who’s Polly?’

‘Polly,’ Kevin declares, ‘is Betty’s sister, a cheerleader who got a little too involved with Jason Blossom for Mrs Cooper’s liking.’

‘Jason Blossom,’ Veronica muses. ‘The dead kid, right?’

Betty and Kevin exchange a glance. ‘The dead kid,’ they say in unison. But somehow Betty still doesn’t believe it. Jason Blossom isn’t dead. This is Riverdale, and nothing bad ever happens in Riverdale. 

Right?

* * *

‘Betty Cooper,’ says Cheryl Blossom, eyeing Betty over her red clipboard, the same shade as her painted lips. ‘Long time no see, B.’

‘Cheryl,’ Betty says. Beside her, Veronica is eyeing Cheryl up and down, looking like a cat who got the cream. 

‘You’re trying out then,’ Cheryl says, and it’s not a question. 

‘I am,’ says Betty, squaring her shoulders like her mother does when she wants to appear intimidating. 

Cheryl clicks her tongue. ‘Good luck with that.’

Betty winces. She’d forgotten that Cheryl was head cheerleader, that she could make or break all of Betty’s dreams in one fell swoop. She turns to walk away, already making peace with the fact that she won’t make the squad. 

‘Wait.’ Veronica’s hand is on her arm, stopping her from leaving. She levels Cheryl with a cold glare. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Cheryl raises an eyebrow. ‘Only that Betty has some distasteful family history, that’s all.’

Veronica frowns. ‘Is this because your brother and her sister dated, or whatever?’

‘You could say that,’ Cheryl says, her lip curling savagely. ‘I wouldn’t, of course. But that’s just me.’

Betty winces. She knows what’s coming next. Some kind of blow, something to knock her off her feet. She groans internally. Does she want a position on the squad this badly?

‘In fact, don’t your parents think that Polly and Jason’s... _relationship_ is what led to her having a nervous breakdown, Betty?’

Betty nods the affirmative. They’d had a very loud conversation in the living room, just after Polly had confessed to having found more than a friend in Jason Blossom. Her mother had yelled something about how that Blossom boy would destroy her daughter, and her father had argued that they had to send Polly away, for her own good. 

And then, the next week, Polly was gone, as if she’d never lived in their house. Her room remained the same, all of her things perfectly in place, but Polly was gone, and Betty was sure that her parents would never be the same. 

‘Your sister had a nervous breakdown?’ Veronica asks incredulously. She turns to Cheryl. ‘And you don’t want Betty on your squad because…?’

Cheryl laughs bitterly. ‘Betty will never say anything out of anger. She’s the perfect girl next door, haven’t you heard?’

Veronica frowns. ‘Why do you need Betty to be angry, exactly?’

‘Because,’ Cheryl spits out. ‘I need girls with fire on my squad. And Betty doesn’t have that kind of fire. I don’t even know if you do, _Veronica Lodge_.’

Veronica snorts. ‘Oh I know what you need Cheryl, because I know who you are. You’re just like - or just like who I was. You’re the girl who has everything, the girl on the top of the pyramid. You traffic in terror and intimidation because you’d rather people fear you than like you. And because you’re rich you’ve never been held accountable.’

Veronica takes a breath, Cheryl looks like she’s been slapped. 

‘But I’m living proof that this certainty - this entitlement? That you wear on your head like a crown? It won’t last. I don’t know if you’ve heard of Hiram Lodge, but from the look on your face when you realised who I was, I’m guessing you have.’

‘So, Cheryl, you know that there will be a reckoning, and people like us - we always have so far to fall.’

She turns over to smile at Betty, reaching out to take her hand. ‘Betty and I come as a matching set. If you want one, then you take us both.’

Cheryl’s face is white, teeth clenched together tightly. Betty has to stop herself from smiling.

‘You wanted _fire_ , Cheryl?'

Veronica looks Cheryl straight in the eye. 

‘My specialty’s ice.’

* * *

Betty spins around. Her new cheerleading uniform feels like a new home. She beams at Veronica. ‘I can’t believe you did that!’

Veronica beams right back. ‘Someone had to take Cheryl down a peg!’

Betty laughs. This is the most carefree that she’s felt in a long time. And it’s all because of Veronica. ‘Hey,’ she begins, but Veronica cuts her off with a sharp jab to the stomach. 

‘Archie’s coming,’ she hisses, attempting to smooth down her hair. Once again, Betty tries not to roll her eyes.

‘Hey Veronica!’ Archie grins, sweaty from the football field and still carrying his helmet in his hand. ‘Betty.’

‘Archie,’ says Betty, ignoring the looks that Veronica casts her way.

Across the field she can see the rest of the football team still trying out. She wonders who’s going to take over Jason’s position - who’s going to live up the expectations that come with being the town’s golden boy.

‘Anyway,’ says Veronica, and Betty realises, all of a sudden that Veronica is _nervous_. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to go to the dance with me? With both of us?’

Betty’s head whips around so fast that she nearly cracks her neck.

‘What?’ she and Archie ask at the same time. 

Veronica nods innocently. ‘I’m new and I’d love for you both to show me around!’

Betty looks around for a hole to bury herself in. Archie’s mumbling excuses - ‘I’m not really in the headspace for a dance right now, Veronica.’

‘That’s not a problem,’ Betty says, taking Veronica’s arm. ‘We’re _so_ sorry to have bothered you.’

‘Absolutely unacceptable!’ Veronica says, digging her feet into the ground. Betty sighs in exasperation. ‘We need an escort Archiekins!’

 _Archiekins?_ Betty thinks, noticing the momentary glance of panic that flickers across Archie’s face. _Haven’t heard that one before_.

‘How could I say no to that?’ Archie asks, but given his expression Betty guesses that he would very dearly like to say no. ‘I’ll see you guys at eight, I guess.’

‘We’ll be there!’ Veronica says enthusiastically, but Betty shoots Archie a dark look. The last thing she wants is to be _his_ date to the back to school dance. Archie shrugs his shoulders, as if to say _what was I supposed to do?_

‘What the hell was that?’ Betty snaps, turning to Veronica once Archie’s back is turned and he’s running across the field. ‘I thought you wanted Archie all to yourself. Or something like that.’

Veronica looks sheepish. ‘I chickened out B. And trust me when I say that I’m just as torn up about it as you are. Veronica Lodge is no chicken...but apparently when it comes to small town boys with abs for days she is.’

Betty smiles - it’s all too easy to forgive Veronica. ‘Does she also always talk about herself in the third person?’

‘Of course, Betty darling! You’ll find it very uplifting, I promise!’

The sounds of their laughter are swallowed by the football field, and Betty allows herself to forget, for a moment, that she hates Archie Andrews and everything he stands for, and instead bask in the glow of new friendship.

* * *

The dance is not a hit. The party back at Cheryl’s place is. 

‘He completely ignored me!’ Veronica whispers to Betty, squished into the couch, holding a red solo cup close to her mouth. ‘And I was flirting. I was flirting _hard_.’

Betty pretends to be interested. ‘He really gave you no response?’

‘Nothing!’ Veronica declares. ‘Maybe he really just isn’t in the right headspace for a dance after all.’

‘Probably,’ Betty says. 

‘Anyway,’ Veronica continues, ‘If I can get him alone I might be able to work some of my magic.’

Her eyes light up. ‘We’re playing Spin the Bottle!’

Betty frowns. ‘I thought we were playing 7 Minutes in Heaven?’

Cheryl enters the room, looking a little bit too much like the devil in a gown of deep red. ‘We’re playing both. A hybrid game, if you will.’

She places the bottle on the table. ‘Gather round ladies, the first person the bottle lands on gets to get in on in a closet with…’

She ponders for a moment, eyeing Betty and Veronica. 

Betty suddenly has a very uneasy feeling. Maybe this afterparty wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

‘...Archie Andrews!’ Cheryl declares, and Betty immediately wishes she’d come dateless - or better yet hadn’t pissed off Cheryl in the first place by daring to want a spot on the cheerleading squad. 

Veronica leans in to whisper in Betty’s ear again. ‘If the bottle lands on me, we’re golden!’

Betty glances at Archie. He looks sick, and by the triumphant smile that Cheryl’s wearing, Betty can’t exactly blame him. 

Cheryl applies another layer of lipstick, and then places her perfectly manicured hand on the bottle. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she sends it spinning. 

The rest happens in slow motion. Veronica leans forward, her eyes on the bottle as though she can personally will it to point to her, Cheryl doing the same - Archie leaning back as if he can escape his inevitable fate.

The bottle slows.

Betty stares in disbelief. It’s landed on Veronica...except not completely. 

It’s landed right in between where their dresses meet, the blending of pink and purple. 

‘Hmm,’ Cheryl muses aloud. ‘I wonder who it’s pointing to.’

‘Veronica,’ Betty says, ‘I’m pretty sure it’s pointing to Veronica.’ She sends Veronica a meaningful look.

‘You’re right,’ Veronica says, almost a little too quickly. ‘It’s just slightly more over to my side, don’t you agree Cheryl?’

‘Let me see,’ Cheryl says, leaning in close, and then, too controlled to not be on purpose, her knee bumps the table.

The bottle spins again. 

And this time, it unquestionably lands on Betty. 

‘Actually Veronica,’ Cheryl says, and Betty realises that this is payback. You don’t publicly humiliate Cheryl Blossom and not face her wrath. ‘I think it’s landed on Betty.’

* * *

The closet is small, and Betty suspects that Cheryl had chosen it on purpose. What better way to unnerve someone then to stick them in a closet with their mortal enemy.

‘So,’ Archie says, clearly abiding to the rule that small talk was far better than silence. ‘Veronica seems nice.’

‘She is,’ Betty says, and she actually means it. Veronica _is_ nice. She’s almost too good to be true. ‘She really likes you.’

Betty doesn’t know if that’s technically the truth, but she does know that she wants Archie to be as uncomfortable as possible. If he’d just turned down Veronica’s invitation completely, they wouldn’t be stuck in a closet, bodies too close together. 

‘Oh,’ says Archie. ‘Well she seems nice.’

Betty tries not to roll her eyes. ‘You already said that.’

‘Well I meant it,’ Archie snaps back. ‘Is it hot in here or?’

For once Betty doesn’t have a smart comment to make. ‘It _is_ hot in here,’ she says, and as if to prove a point, Archie drops his phone, his hands slick with sweat.

They lean down to pick it up at the same time. And when they rise, their faces are much too close together.

Suddenly, Betty forgets everything. Have Archie’s eyes always been that particular shade of brown? Or do they change in the light? 

Why does she care?

But she’s stopped breathing. She’s pretty sure that Archie has too. They only stand there, a breath away from each other, staring. 

If this was a movie, or a tv show, this would be the moment where Archie would lean down, ever so gently, and kiss Betty. 

If this was a movie, Betty would want him to.

But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. She hates Archie Andrews with everything in her. Who cares if he got hot, or that he’s looking at her like he’s never seen her before? Who cares if he’s looking at her like every girl dreams of being looked at, or that he’s leaning forward, just a little bit, and that she’s leaning forward too?

Who cares if-

Archie’s phone rings.

Betty lets out the breath she’d been holding, turning away and pressing her hands to her cheeks. She feels flushed, her skin is pricking with goosebumps. 

Her phone rings too. It’s Alice. 

‘Hey,’ Betty says, and is immediately cut off by her mother, who launches into a lecture, and then something of a darker nature. 

Betty clicks her phone off. Beside her Archie has done the same. This time, the look they exchange isn’t heated, it’s apprehensive, sad almost.

They exit the closet without a sound. They’ve got somewhere else to be now.

* * *

When Betty woke up that morning all she’d been thinking about was cheerleading tryouts and giving Veronica a tour. She hadn’t been thinking about death, because that’s not something that she tried to think about at all. 

They pull Jason’s body from the river in silence. Kevin stands next to his father, pale and drawn. He’d been the one who’d found him, Alice had told Betty in a whisper. 

When Betty woke up that morning Riverdale had still had three simple truths - the only place to eat out was Pop’s, Archie Andrews and Betty Cooper hate each other, and nothing bad ever happens in Riverdale.

She never would have guessed that only one of those would still be utterly and completely true.

 _This is how we lose everything_ , she realises, staring at the river and avoiding Archie’s gaze. _This is how we lose our innocence_. 

_This wasn’t supposed to happen_ , she thinks. _Not in Riverdale_. 

When she gets home, in the early light of dawn, she ignores her mother’s cries and runs straight to her bathroom, stripping off her clothes and letting the hot water of the shower cleanse her skin. 

She returns to her bedroom, hair damp and skin cold, despite the residual warmth of the shower. 

She walks over to her window, drawing the curtains and letting the light stream in. 

She stares out at the garden, at the house next door.

And for the first time, in a very long time, Archie Andrews is staring back at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, all the love goes to cara.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @[thephantomsandjulie](https://thephantomsandjulie.tumblr.com) and on twitter @[ahobbitinahole](https://twitter.com/ahobbitinahole). feel free to come and talk to me anytime!
> 
> the title and all chapter titles are drawn from Zara Larsson’s ‘ruin my life’.


	2. set fire to my world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am completely blown away by the support that this has been receiving thus far! thank you! as always, the editor goes above and beyond for me, and I can't thank her enough.

Jughead Jones sits alone in a booth at Pop’s, staring hard at the blank screen on his laptop. He’s never had writer’s block before in his life, but now, just when he finally has something to actually write about, it hits him like a ton of bricks. 

He takes another sip of his coffee - black, like always. He’s aware he’s the living embodiment of every teen writer - brooding and pretentious. But he doesn’t care. If brooding and pretentious gets people to leave him alone then he’ll take it. 

Across the room, Betty and Kevin are huddled in a booth together. Jughead allows himself a minute, maybe two to watch the way Betty’s face lights up in a smile as Kevin tells a joke. It’s nowhere near her usual glow, but given last night’s events Jughead can understand why. 

He taps a few keys on his laptop. He’s writing a cast of characters, as one does. His story is about this town, after all. 

_Betty Cooper_ , he types, _the perfect girl next door_.

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. The bell rings and in steps Archie Andrews, all American hero and Jughead’s former best friend. 

Jughead shoves a fry into his mouth savagely. 

With him is a girl that Jughead has only seen from afar - all he knows about her is her name, which is already infamous: Veronica Lodge. She’s wearing a cape, and Jughead can’t help but admire her for that one simple fact. She waves to Betty before leading Archie to a booth on the opposite side of the room. 

Jughead twists his head, before settling his back against the wall. He can see both booths simultaneously now. Veronica’s looking at him curiously, Archie apologetically. Betty’s glaring at Archie and Kevin’s glaring at Betty. 

Jughead deletes his previous sentence. The page is white again. 

_Our story is about a town_. _A small town. And the people who live in this town._

Archie and Betty lock eyes. Something unspoken seems to pass between them, just as it has for the past decade. Jughead knows this, because he’s always known. He might be the only person to remember the years when Betty and Archie didn’t hate each other, when they still laughed and talked on the playground. When one could even call them best friends.

 _From a distance, it presents itself like so many other small towns all over the world. Safe. Decent. Innocent. Get closer, though, and you start seeing the shadows underneath_.

Jughead stares off into space, thinking about the summer that’s just passed. _Why did you cancel our road trip?_ he wonders, frowning at Archie. _Why do you and Betty hate each other now?_

_What are you hiding?_

The white page isn’t so blank anymore. By the time Jughead leaves Pop’s at midday, it’ll hold evidence of a good morning’s hard work. 

But for now, Jughead sips his coffee and observes those around him. Somehow, he knows that Riverdale has changed irrevocably, lost its innocence.

 _The name of our town is Riverdale_ …

* * *

Betty creeps down the stairs. It’s five in the morning, the day of Jason Blossom’s funeral. His _real_ funeral, not the one where the Blossoms had buried an empty casket. 

Today is going to be an interesting day, Betty can feel it in her bones. There’s a mystery afoot, and like Nancy Drew, the heroine that Betty tried to emulate from ages five to thirteen, she’s going to solve it. 

Her parents are murmuring in the kitchen. From here, Betty can see the bags under her father’s eyes, the excited gleam in her mother’s. 

‘I hope he suffered,’ Alice says, and Betty almost gasps aloud. ‘I hope in those last moments he suffered.’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Hal replies. ‘He can’t ever hurt Polly again.’

Betty tiptoes back up the stairs, chills running down her spine. She’s always known that her parents hated Jason Blossom, even before he and Polly dated. But this? This is another level. A messy break up wouldn’t account for the pure disgust in her mother’s voice, the hard edge on her father’s words.

Betty enters Polly’s room with a sigh. It’s exactly the same as it had been when Polly left. The bed is coated with dust, but sunlight filters in, and Betty is transported back to a simpler time, when her life wasn’t quite so upside down. 

She makes her way to Polly’s desk, algebra book still open, fractions half done in Polly’s neat handwriting. 

In the top drawer, where it’s always been, even after Betty had read it in the sixth grade, is Polly’s diary, bound in blue ribbon. Betty unties it with trembling fingers. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for, not really. All she knows is that she has to find answers. She has to know what happened between Jason and Polly. 

Because Polly can’t tell her, and now, neither can Jason. 

The last entry isn’t dated, and Polly’s writing is jagged and angry, pen strokes nearly tearing the page. It’s hard to read, and Betty has to squint. What she can make out reads:

_Today I saw them. He’d been lying to me for weeks, that much I knew. Naturally, I suspected as much, but this? I don’t think I’m paranoid, I never thought that._

A line break.

_I didn’t tell anyone. I only told my parents that he’d cheated. That was enough for them to hate him. Betty doesn’t know anything and neither does Cheryl. That’s a good thing._

Another break.

 _I can’t help but feel sorry for him, in the end. He traded in something real with me for a secret with her. But still, something must be done_.

That’s all Betty can decipher. There’s more, but Polly’s scribbled over it, heavy ink strokes obscuring her final words. 

Betty doesn’t know who the mysterious ‘her’ could be. And she doesn’t think that Cheryl knows either. Jason had kept his secret affair very secret, it would seem.

She replaces Polly’s diary and exits the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

 _I’m missing something_ , she realises. _I’m missing something big_. 

* * *

‘That was,’ Veronica declares, ‘completely and utterly humiliating. B, you should be glad that you were the one in the closet.’

Betty thinks about the warmth of Archie’s breath on her cheek, the sound of his heart beating in his chest, nearly as loud as hers. She isn’t sure she agrees with Veronica’s statement, but the worst part is that she isn’t sure she _disagrees_ either. 

‘I should have known that Cheryl would retaliate,’ Veronica continues. ‘That’s just what someone like her would do. She had to see you uncomfortable, and me squirm.’

Kevin sits in rapt attention, his gaze laser focused on Veronica. ‘That’s true,’ he says, hanging onto Veronica’s every word and ignoring Betty’s eye roll. ‘But she’s always been that way - she’s the Queen B, rich and popular, although she can’t have one without the other.’

‘It was the same with me,’ Veronica says, fiddling with the straps of her dress. ‘But everyone knows that pride comes before the fall.’

Betty rolls her eyes again. ‘You say that as if you know how she feels.’

‘I _do_ know how she feels!’ Veronica says emphatically. ‘My father fell from grace, remember? Or is that old news now?’

Both Betty and Kevin wince at that, the image of Jason’s body still fresh in their minds. ‘Her brother _died_ , V,’ Betty says. ‘It’s not quite the same thing.’

‘Whatever,’ says Veronica, and Kevin winces again. ‘It’s not like she wasn’t like that before, though. Am I right?’

‘Possibly,’ says Kevin, but he doesn’t elaborate. Veronica can’t understand the way any of them are feeling right now. Riverdale is safe, or, it _was_. Betty hardly knows what to think anymore. 

Movement in Archie’s room catches her eye. He’s tying his tie in the mirror, hair unkempt. Even from this distance Betty can see the bags under his eyes. Clearly she’s not the only one who hadn’t slept much last night. 

True be told, she hadn’t slept at all. Somehow she’d convinced Kevin to come out early with her, even though she’d known their respective parents would have their heads over it. All she wanted to do was sit in the warm glow of her favourite booth at Pop’s, talking to her best friend and drinking lukewarm coffee. She didn’t want to go back to her room, her dress still thrown on the floor right where she’d left it, curtains still drawn, letting the light stream in. 

But she had to face reality. Jason’s funeral was today, and already it’d been longer than she’d ever intended. Polly’s diary foretold a new mystery, and Kevin had told her all about finding Jason’s body in the river that morning. 

Archie finishes tying his tie, and looks through the window, catching her eye.

Betty turns her head so quickly that she almost gives herself whiplash. 

_Stop it_ , she scolds herself. _You’re acting like a schoolgirl with a crush_.

‘You’re so lucky,’ Veronica sighs, leaning on the windowsill. ‘Living next door to the man of my dreams.’

Betty rolls her eyes. ‘You’ve known him for a day.’

‘That’s all I need,’ Veronica says, and for some reason Betty believes her. After all, Veronica, with Archie on her arm, had entered Pop’s that very morning, and proceeded to stay for breakfast. Betty could only assume that it was meant to be a date, however poor the timing was. 

Kevin had smiled, his teeth white and gleaming. ‘I told you so,’ he’d whispered.

Betty had fought the urge to do something she’d later regret - vomit, or throw something, or give Kevin reason to believe that she might be angry about Archie taking Veronica out for an all American breakfast.

Naturally, Kevin had noticed something anyway.

‘Why,’ he began dramatically, ‘is Archie Andrews staring directly at you, looking like he’s about to confess his undying love?’

Betty had turned her head. Archie _was_ looking at her, although somehow she doubted that confessions of love were the thing on his mind. 

He looked as confused as she felt. 

_This is what happens when you screw with something good_ , she thought. _I was fine hating you_. _At least I knew how I felt_.

‘You might have some competition,’ Kevin says, smiling widely, jolting Betty back to the present. ‘Betty and Archie had a moment in the closet.’

‘Wait, _what_ _?_ ’ Veronica exclaims, all wide eyes and fluttering eyelashes. ‘I thought the two of you were mortal enemies!’

‘We _are_ ,’ Betty snaps. ‘It was a moment of mutual hatred. It wasn’t romantic in the slightest.’

‘Hmph,’ Kevin says. ‘When you were talking about being in the closet with him, you sounded almost wistful.’

‘It was your imagination,’ Betty says, ‘You want _Veronica_ and Archie together, remember?’

‘Team Varchie for the win!’ Veronica says excitedly. 

Kevin winces. ‘Yeah...you might want to rethink that name.’

Betty tunes them out, catching Archie’s eye again. He still looks as confused as he had at Pop’s. Betty wonders how many times she’s looked through this window for him, only for Archie to be nowhere to be seen. She wonders how many times he’d done the same thing. 

_Everything was so much easier when I hated you_ , she thinks. _Why did you have to ruin that?_

_Why did you have to go and change everything that I thought I was sure of? Why? What was the reason?_

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. 

_You ruined everything_ , Betty thinks savagely. 

She wants to tear her gaze away, show Archie her back, let him know that he still meant nothing to her. 

But she can’t. She’s trapped, staring at the boy in the window, like she’s never seen him before.

And maybe she hasn’t. At least, not properly. 

The boy in the window smiles slightly, and for a moment Betty allows herself to think about what might have happened if Jason’s body hadn’t been found, if Archie’s phone hadn’t rung. 

Would she still be in this same position? Would she still be losing her mind, even if the kiss had happened?

And if it had happened, what would it have been like?

Would it have been soft and gentle, a typical first kiss, a brush of lips against each other, straight out of a fairytale or romantic comedy?

Or would it have been a rough kiss, hate and want and need mangled into one. Would she have tangled her hands in his hair, felt his on her waist? Would they have sunk into each other, pulling closer and closer until it was impossible not to feel each other on every inch of their bodies?

In hindsight, it was better this way, to dream instead of live. Betty could imagine Archie’s lips on hers, what that might feel like and what it might mean and whether she’d like it or not. 

But it couldn’t happen, because everyone knew that Betty Cooper and Archie Andrews hated each other. And some things weren’t meant to change, no matter how much you wanted them to.

 _Needed_ them to. 

This time, Archie turns away from the window first. But he’d stayed long enough. 

Long enough for Betty to know that he felt exactly the same way as she did. Just as confused. Just as angry. Just as eager to dream. 

_But that’s all it is_ , she says to his retreating back. _It’s only a dream._

But what a good dream it was. 

* * *

For the first time in his life, Archie Andrews doesn’t know what to do. He’s always a better sense of direction than most, always known where to go when it comes to anything. He can adapt to any situation, take everything in his stride and roll with it.

But he doesn’t know what to do about this.

Last night, in what might take the cake as the stupidest thing he’s ever done, he’d gotten himself trapped in a closet with Betty Cooper.

Normally Archie would be pretty ecstatic about being stuck in a closet with a girl, but Betty Cooper was another story. 

They’d lived next door to each other their entire lives, and had hated each other for almost that long. Kevin had coined the phrase ‘mortal enemies’ when it came to them, and that was all anybody needed to know. Betty and Archie didn’t get along, they never had and they never would. 

And he still hates her, Archie’s sure about that. But he’s not blind. He knows that Betty’s pretty, beautiful even. He knows that half the boys on the football team have a crush on her, even if they’d never talk to him about it. High school boys aren’t subtle, and Archie isn’t an exception to the rule.

And that explains everything that had happened in the closet. You could hate someone and still be attracted to them, right?

_Right?_

_It doesn’t matter_ , Archie thinks, adjusting his tie again awkwardly. _It doesn’t matter because nothing happened. You just stood in a closet together and you tried not to think about what it would be like to kiss her._

 _You failed_.

Archie blames the heat. He’d been flustered already - Veronica had been flirting with him all night, and she’d been flirting _hard_. Archie hadn’t known what to do about it, especially when he was already technically seeing someone, even if he couldn’t tell Veronica that. 

He’d also cried out in relief when Cheryl had ‘accidentally’ bumped the bottle and it had landed on Betty. If he’d gotten into that closet with Veronica he would have done something he would have regretted.

Although it’s not like he avoided that particular outcome.

Archie can still see her, curls falling gently to her shoulders, green eyes wide and confused. It was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her, standing in that closet, looking at him like she’d never seen him before.

It was the heat and the attraction, Archie determines, as his father steers the car into Thornhill’s driveway. There’s no way he’d ever try to kiss Betty Cooper otherwise. 

_Right?_

But once again, there’s a voice nagging in the back of his head, telling him that he’s only lying to himself. Archie ignores it, focusing instead on the Blossoms, face drawn and cold. 

His father shakes their hands and Archie offers Mrs Blossom Jason’s jersey. It was the best decision he’d made the week, to retire the jersey in Jason’s memory.

‘Oh Archie,’ says Penelope, bringing a hand to her mouth. ‘ _Thank you_.’

‘Of course, Mrs Blossom,‘ Archie says, and that’s that.

‘You did good, kid,’ Fred says as they enter the house. ‘I’m proud of you.’ 

‘Thanks dad,’ Archie beams, although the smile falls from his face when he notices that all three of the women he feels some kind of way about are already in the room.

Veronica and Betty stand with Kevin, arms threaded together, already the best of friends despite only knowing each other for a day. 

‘We just clicked, you know?’ Veronica had gushed earlier that morning. ‘I have no idea why you hate her, but I _love_ her.’

Betty scowls at him, although that might be her natural expression - Archie gave up bothering to tell the difference years ago. She doesn’t look particularly special, but Archie’s heart does a weird little jump in his chest anyway. 

_You hate her_ , he reminds himself. _That doesn't change because you had a moment in a closet_. _It was the heat and the attraction, remember?_

He turns away from Betty, eyes finally landing the woman he’s somehow become enamoured 

with over the summer, even though he knows he’d be in deep trouble if anyone ever found out. 

As far as Archie knows Geraldine Grundy is the average music teacher, who moved to a small town to pursue her dream of helping kids follow _their_ dreams. 

She avoids his gaze, just like she’s been avoiding him ever since school started back up again. Archie would let it go, but he needs her - not as a girlfriend, or a lover, but as a teacher.

‘You can’t tell anyone about us,’ she’d said, when Archie had cornered her the first day of school. ‘I’d lose my job and who knows what could happen to you. But I can guarantee that it would be devastating. That’s why you have to stay away from me, okay?’ 

And for the most part, Archie had done exactly what she’d asked and left her alone. But he couldn’t anymore, not when his future was on the line.

He approaches her slowly. She’s standing alone, looking a little lost. Archie knows that she was Jason’s tutor - that’s why she’s here today.

‘Ms Grundy,’ he asks, and she turns to him, eyebrows raising. ‘Can I talk to you?’

‘What,’ she says, her voice like ice, ‘Would you possibly need to talk to me about?’

Something in Archie snaps. How can she stand there, acting like last summer meant nothing to her? _Means_ nothing to her? ‘Music, Ms Grundy,’ he says, his voice just as cold as hers had been. ‘You’re the music teacher, can we talk about music?’

She freezes, fingers clenching and unclenching. ‘You can make an appointment, just like everyone else, and I will see you then.’ 

Ms Grundy turns away then, and Archie finds himself looking after her, watching her walk away.

It’s not a good feeling. It never has been.

* * *

‘I wonder what that was about,’ Veronica murmurs, watching Archie, who looks like a lost puppy dog.

‘Who cares,’ Betty says, pulling the sleeves of her cardigan further down her arms. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I wish I was at school right now.’

Kevin fiddles with his own sleeves awkwardly. ‘I’m right there with you. This is even more of a downer than I thought it would be. I know it’s a funeral, but I thought it would be a celebration of Jason’s life? Or something like that? This is just kind of bland, if I’m being honest.’

‘I agree.’

The three of them spin around. Cheryl stands behind them, dressed in blinding white, the same outfit she’d worn the day her boat capsized. ‘This is a dreary affair and we should be celebrating, _honouring_ Jay Jay. Not mourning him.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss Cheryl,’ Betty says, giving Cheryl what can only be described as a grimace. 

‘Thank you Betty,’ Cheryl says primly. ‘I appreciate your attendance.’

She flounces away, head held high, despite the stares from everyone else in the room.

The funeral goes off without a hitch, even though the Blossoms are clearly not too happy with Cheryl’s outfit choice. Betty wanders out to the garden afterwards, admiring the roses, as red as the lipstick that Cheryl had worn.

‘A pity, isn’t it?’

Betty turns around, finding herself in the company of Jughead Jones. 

‘What’s a pity?’ She asks, frowning at him. He’s still wearing the same beanie he’s been wearing since they were five, even though they’re at a funeral.

‘Jason’s death,’ Jughead replies, popping a cherry into his mouth. ‘Although I’m glad it was cleared up that he was shot.’

‘Why?’ Betty snaps, not enjoying the unnerving side effects of Jughead’s presence. ‘Why would you be glad he was shot?’

‘Because,’ Jughead says, matter of factly. ‘It didn’t make any sense that he’d drowned. He was captain of the water polo team _and_ the football team.’

‘So?’ Betty asks, feeling increasingly more annoyed. It pains her to admit it, but she doesn’t like not being the smartest person in the room, or in this case, the smartest person in the garden. 

‘Well, Betty dearest,’ Jughead states, even though they haven’t spoken alone since the fourth grade, ‘he was murdered. Do with that what you will.’

He walks away then, content with having dropped a bombshell on her. Betty stares after him, biting her bottom lip savagely with her teeth.

He’s not wrong, Jason must have been murdered. But what’s haunting her is _why_. Why would anyone want to kill Riverdale’s golden boy? 

_Maybe my parents_ , she thinks darkly. _They certainly would rather he burn in hell after what he did to Polly_.

A cold thought strikes Betty. What if Polly had something to do with Jason’s disappearance and subsequent death? What if that was why she’d had a nervous breakdown and Hal and Alice had sent her away?

 _No_ , she realises. _Polly’s not capable of that sort of thing_.

But last week Betty hadn’t thought that anything bad would ever happen in Riverdale, and yet here she was, at a funeral for a boy who’d been shot point blank and washed up on the shore of Sweetwater River. 

_Maybe_ , Betty thinks darkly _, anything’s possible after all_.

But who could possibly be capable of murder?

* * *

Betty locks up the Blue and Gold office, for once, immensely proud of herself. She’d managed to knock her entire article out in one go, and she’d filed it away for later editing. 

There’s a noise down the hall and Betty frowns. It’s only around five, but she’s usually the last one here, when the halls are silent and slightly eerie. 

Betty peers around the corner. Jughead Jones, headphones dangling around his neck, is staring through the music room door, aghast. His face is contorted, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

Betty frowns, moving closer, watching as Jughead shakes his head, disbelief etched onto his face. He moves away from the door, still shaking his head.

Betty doesn’t know Jughead very well - he’s Archie’s best friend, or had been Archie’s best friend. He spends a lot of time at Pop’s and he fulfils every single stereotype of a brooder that there is. Even though they’d had that one conversation at Jason’s funeral, Betty’s sure that doesn’t exactly count for friendship. 

But Betty’s never seen him this surprised before, this _stunned_. She may not know him well, but she’s known him her entire life, and surely that counts for something. 

She watches him disappear up the hall before creeping to the doorway, careful to stay in the shadows. 

The music teacher - Ms Grundy - is standing in the middle of the room, smiling at someone on the other side of the room.

And then, in what feels like slow motion, the boy next door appears. 

Suddenly everything falls into place - everything that hadn’t made sense before makes sense now. 

The expression on Jughead’s face was part confusion, part disgust. And Betty knows why now - Archie Andrews and Ms Grundy are - seeing each other? And not in the way typical of a student and a teacher. 

Betty flashes back to the other morning, when she’d read Polly’s diary. 

_No_ , she thinks, the dots connecting in her head. _Surely not_.

 _But it makes sense_ , the little voice inside her head tells her. _It makes too much sense_.

Polly had written about Jason having an affair, cheating on her, yet she hadn’t said who. Jason had been Ms Grundy’s student.

 _That’s not enough_ , Betty realises. _That’s not a connection that’s a guess_.

Laughter sounds through the door and Betty winces, remembering where she is. Now is not the place to solve the mystery of Jason’s secret affair.

 _Secret_.

And then Betty remembers the last legible words that Polly had written in her diary. 

_He traded in something real with me for a secret with her._

‘Oh my god,’ Betty whispers, feeling sick to her stomach. 

She practically runs home, yelling a quick hello to her parents and promising to be down for dinner in half an hour. 

She roots through Polly’s room in a frenzy, because surely, if she’s even someway right, Polly would have left something behind, anything at all.

Betty comes up empty. There’s nothing at all. Polly’s room is that of a typical teenage girl. It’s clean, tidy. Polly has nothing to hide.

Betty pulls out the diary again. Maybe she was remembering what Polly had written incorrectly. Maybe she was so desperate to find someone to blame that she’d forgotten to look at the situation logically. 

Sure, Archie was making a huge mistake, but that was Archie. And as far as she knew, Ms Grundy was a young teacher, who was shy and kept to herself. Maybe she and Jughead had misread the scene completely. Maybe Archie and Ms Grundy just had a special bond.

Betty flips open the diary again, and flips a little too far. The pages are blank, and Betty feels an ache in her chest for her sister, wherever she may be. She’d never admit it to Polly, but she misses her. It’s lonely in the house with only Alice and Hal for company. 

Out of the corner of her eye Betty notices a not so blank page, hidden behind the scrawling of Polly’s confession about Jason’s affair and her hastily crossed out sentences. Betty hadn’t noticed it before, but there’s a line that she’d missed.

 _Please_ , she thinks. _Please tell me exactly what I need to know_.

Betty turns the page with trembling fingers. She doesn’t know if she wants to be wrong or right. If she’s wrong she still has the same problems as before, but if she’s right those problems are only intensified. 

She reads the line. It’s short and to the point and bitter. That surprises Betty - she’d never thought of Polly as being the type to hold grudges, but then again it’s not every day that your boyfriend sleeps with his music teacher.

The line reads: _At least I know why he was taking so many music lessons now_.

Betty replaces the diary. Her throat is dry, and oddly, she feels like crying. 

She returns to her own bedroom silently, dragging her feet across the soft carpet. She flops down onto her bed with a sigh. What is she going to do now?

Her phone pings with a text.

 **Archie:** _i’m sry abt the other night_

Betty frowns at her screen. She makes an executive decision. 

**Betty:** _that’s not what u should be sry abt_

 **Archie:**???

Betty peers out her window. Archie is staring at her in confusion. Quickly, Betty taps out another text. 

**Betty:** _i know what u do in the music room_

She gets no reply. Archie only stares through his window, a scowl on his face.

The lights in his room go off abruptly, and Betty takes the hint, shutting her curtains with a sigh. 

This is what she gets, trying to do the right thing. Stony silences and icy glares. 

She picks up her phone again. 

**Betty:** _for what it’s worth, i’m sorry too_

This time, she gets left on read. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, all the love goes to cara.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @[thephantomsandjulie](https://thephantomsandjulie.tumblr.com) and on twitter @[ahobbitinahole](https://twitter.com/ahobbitinahole). feel free to come and talk to me anytime!
> 
> the title and all chapter titles are drawn from Zara Larsson’s ‘ruin my life’.


	3. couldn't handle the heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a filler chapter today! all of my gratitude goes to the editor, who is, quite frankly, awesome. 
> 
> a special thank you to everyone leaving comments and kudos, letting me know (on twitter and tumblr) that they like this fic! you guys are the true mvps.

Betty doesn’t sleep that night. All she can think about is Polly, and Jason, and even Archie. They lurk in the back of her mind, not quite nightmares, but not quite welcome either. She can see Polly’s face in the shadows on the wall. She can hear Archie’s voice in the wind that rattles her windows. She mistakes the rising sun for the red of Jason’s hair.

There are bags under her eyes now, bags that she’s slowly earned through countless sleepless nights. She has no explanation for everything that’s happened, everything with Archie, what she’s discovered about Polly and Jason.

All she knows now is that she needs answers. Real ones. Not facts that she’s gleaned from peering through doors and flipping through diaries. Words, the _truth_.

And she knows just where to start. 

The school hallway is crowded, whispers rising and falling like the ocean tide. It’s about Jason, mostly, and what this means and if he really was murdered. Betty tries not to pay much attention, instead focusing all of her attention on spotting the boy she would give anything to stop thinking about.

And there he is, Archie Andrews, looking about as tired as she feels. Betty doubts that he’d gotten much sleep with her words burned into his brain. 

She stalks over, keeping her head held high and a blank expression on her face. If this, for lack of a better word, _interrogation_ , was going to work, she would have to be stoic as possible. There would be no room for error, no room for mistakes of any kind. 

‘I need to talk to you,’ she snaps, arriving at Archie’s locker. ‘And I think you know what it’s about.’

Archie shakes his head. ‘You know, I really thought that we might be on the way to becoming friends again, after everything that’s happened. But you had to ruin it, as usual.’

‘Seriously?’ Betty says, holding back a bitter laugh, ‘don’t put your mistakes on me.’

‘I don’t have to,’ says Archie. ‘They already _are_ on you. And you know why? You couldn’t keep your nose out of my business and you couldn’t just leave me alone. From here on out, everything is your fault. Maybe it won’t make sense, but I’m blaming you anyway.’

Betty scoffs. ‘Don’t be so immature, Archibald. I haven’t done anything... _yet_.’

Archie slams his locker shut. ‘That’s the problem, _Elizabeth_. You have the power to ruin my life and you’re acting like you’ve just won the lottery.’

‘Can you blame me?’ Betty asks, and this time it’s a genuine question. ‘You’ve been ruining my life since we were like eight. If you think I’ve forgotten about that time you told my mother that I’d stolen your bike, then you thought wrong.’

‘You _did_ steal my bike,’ Archie says, rolling his eyes. ‘And you deserved what you got. And stealing a bike is nothing compared to what you have the power to do to me.’

‘Then tell me why I shouldn’t,’ Betty says. ‘Tell me why I shouldn’t do whatever it is you think I’m going to.’

‘Fine,’ Archie snaps. ‘I guess you can meet me in the music room, during study hall.’

‘Oh nice!’ Betty flings at his retreating back. ‘Very appropriate!’

She turns away, rolling her eyes. There goes her nap. 

* * *

They sit in the music room, across from each other. Archie’s leg is jiggling, faster and faster. Betty’s arms are crossed tight. 

They do not speak. They’re at a stalemate. 

And then - 

‘I can’t believe you,’ Betty hisses. ‘A _teacher?_ ’

Archie rolls his eyes, as if he really has the higher ground right now. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Betty snorts. ‘I probably know more about it than you do. She’s using you. You know that right? She’s using you and she’s manipulating you and-’

‘Shut up Betty,’ Archie snaps. ‘I like her, okay?’

Betty frowns. ‘You _like_ her? Jesus Christ Archie! What do you think's going to happen in the long run? That you’ll get married and have three kids and no one will remember that she taught you high school music?’

‘Maybe,’ Archie says sullenly. ‘But it’s still not any of your business.’

‘It’s more of my business than you know,’ Betty snaps. ‘You’re not the first underage red head she’s sunk her claws into.’

Archie leans forward. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

Betty swallows. Suddenly her quest for justice doesn’t seem so great after all. 

‘I’m saying,’ she says, ‘that Jason and Polly broke up for more than one reason.’

Archie pales. ‘You’re lying.’

Betty scoffs. ‘Why would I lie?’

‘Because you’re _you_ ,’ Archie snaps. ‘And for some reason you’ve made it your life’s mission to destroy everything good that I have going for me.’

Betty laughs. It surprises her how bitter and cold it sounds. ‘If I wanted to destroy everything good in your life Archie, I wouldn’t start with your affair with a child predator who’s at least twice your age.’

‘Whatever,’ says Archie. ‘I don’t care. I like Geraldine, and she likes me. The rest doesn’t matter.’

‘But,’ Betty whispers, her voice soft. ‘What if it does?’

Archie rolls his eyes. ‘Aren’t you tired of talking in riddles? What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

‘It means,’ says Betty, resting her hands on her knees in anticipation, ‘that Jason’s dead now. Do with that what you will.’

She leaves then. It takes everything in her not to look back. 

* * *

Jughead Jones remembers things that most people can’t recall. He sees things that most people can’t. He notices details that people would rather forget, not because they’re not important, but because it’s often easier to sometimes not remember.

He’s been like this his entire life, always on the sidelines, watching and waiting and remembering, wondering if one day he’ll see something that will make sense of everything. 

It appears that day has finally arrived.

Jughead Jones has known Archie Andrews for almost his entire life. So long, in fact, that he remembers when Archie’s backyard had a sandpit and a tire swing, when Archie’s bed was the shape of a fire truck, when Archie was as skinny and scrawny as Jughead is now. 

That’s how he knew something was wrong, before he knew what he knows now.

Even though they haven’t really been close friends in a long time - or really, just a summer, Jughead can read Archie like the back of his hand. He suspects, given practice, most of Riverdale could too. Archie’s not exactly subtle. 

That’s the reason he notices the small things, like how Archie’s gaze almost always lands on Betty, as if he can’t quite help himself, and how at Jason Blossom’s funeral, things didn’t quite play out the way Jughead had told himself they always would. 

Archie had looked at Betty, because he always looks to Betty, but he’d looked past her, to someone else. 

And that had been when Jughead had known, or at least suspected. Archie didn’t do things without reason, even if he wasn’t consciously aware of them. He did things with purpose and with pride. 

Last night, hearing a noise from down the corridor, Jughead had finally known for sure. Archie Andrews, all American stereotype, was seeing Riverdale High’s music teacher, in a way that Jughead was fairly sure couldn’t be for extra credit. 

Although, Jughead hadn’t realised that he wasn’t the only one who knew. 

Betty, in her own way, is even less subtle than Archie. Jughead’s known her for a long time, and for all of that time he could read her expressions easily. 

But it wasn’t until he’d been in the perfect spot to eavesdrop in the hallway that he’d connected all of the dots. Betty knew Archie’s secret. And Archie thought that she was going to turn him in - or at least do _something_. 

But Archie didn’t know Betty like Jughead did. Betty was loyal to the bone. And she wouldn’t turn Archie in, at least not without a specific reason. 

And she hadn’t turned him in, which meant that there was a specific reason.

And that meant that there was more to the story. Betty was hiding even more than Archie, Jughead was sure of it. 

All he has to do now is prove it. 

He looks around the school grounds. Normally, Archie sits alone somewhere, in his own world. Betty and Kevin, and now Veronica, share a lunch table under a shady tree. 

Today is no exception. 

He plops himself down at the lunch table. Betty’s staring into space, her lunch untouched. Kevin and Veronica are engaged in excited conversation about a variety show, which peters out when they notice his unexpected presence. 

‘So,’ Jughead says, taking a large bite of his bright red apple, ‘What’s up?’

He has a feeling that now he’s one step closer to solving the only murder that Riverdale has ever seen. 

He has a feeling, that just like everything else in his life, it all begins and ends with Archie Andrews and Betty Cooper.

 _The boy and girl next door_. 

* * *

Lunch is awkward, increased only by the appearance of Jughead Jones, whose life’s mission seems to be making people uncomfortable. 

Veronica is certainly uncomfortable. Jughead takes up too much space and eats too loudly and smiles too widely, as if there’s really something to smile about. 

Veronica sits primly, chewing her lunch like a proper young lady. Across the table, Jughead smirks at her, bits of apple still evident in his mouth. 

Veronica smiles back, but inside she’s screaming for help, because why is Jughead Jones sitting with them? As far as she knows Kevin has exactly two close friends: Betty and Veronica. And as far as she knows Betty _also_ has two close friends: Kevin and Veronica. Jughead Jones doesn’t factor into either of equations, so what is his cause for interrupting her hour of freedom?

_And why won’t he stop looking at me?_

‘So,’ Jughead begins conversationally, as if he belongs here and as if he’s always belonged here. ‘What’s up?’

‘Not much,’ says Kevin, exchanging a glance with Veronica. ‘We’re just talking about the variety show. Right, Betty?’

Betty doesn’t answer, seemingly in a comatose state. She’s staring off into the distance thoughtfully, chewing on her own apple. Thankfully, in accordance to both etiquette and Veronica’s sanity, her mouth is closed. 

Veronica casts her eyes to where Betty’s staring and can’t help the little stirring of jealousy that occurs when she realises where that is. 

Archie Andrews sits alone at a lunch table, scribbling something down in a notebook, thoughtfully chewing on a pencil. Normally, Veronica would retch in disgust, but somehow Archie manages to make it look endearing. 

Veronica Lodge isn’t one for crushes. She’s not even one for relationships. But upon moving to Riverdale, she’d promised herself that she would start afresh. Old Veronica would be washed down the sink, and new Veronica would be shiny and squeaky clean in more ways than one. She’d make friends, _real_ friends. She’d try hard in school - she wouldn’t scrape by just because she couldn’t be bothered to do the work. 

And most of all, she wouldn’t use anyone. She would be as real as she possibly could be, which meant no using people. Not for their looks or their smarts or even their money. 

She’d ticked off those boxes with Kevin and Betty, but a small part of her wondered if she was just using them too - using them to prove to herself that she could be good, or at least she could be an illusion of good.

 _People don’t really change_ , she thinks, as Archie looks up and catches Betty’s eye. _They just hide the darker parts away_. 

Betty looks back down at the table, a scowl on her face and a blush in her cheeks. Archie’s scowling back, rubbing his neck with his hand, almost self consciously. 

_But the truth comes out eventually_ , _no matter what you do or how you do it._

_What are you hiding_? Veronica wonders, looking between Archie and Betty in confusion. 

And she’s not the only one who’s noticed the little interaction. Jughead has stopped chewing his apple, looking thoughtfully at Archie. 

_Jughead notices things_ , Kevin had said at the funeral. _He notices everything_. _It’s kind of his thing_.

And he’s noticing something now, although Veronica can’t figure out what. 

_Who are you, Jughead Jones?_

Jughead catches her eye again. His beanie is pulled low over his head, and she can barely glimpse the expression in his eyes. But he looks nervous, excited even. 

Like everything he’s seen is coming together, knotting into a big bow. 

_What do you want?_ She wonders, chewing a carrot thoughtfully.

 _But most of all_ , _why do I care?_

* * *

Betty walks home quickly, counting her steps in her head to keep herself busy. She feels as light as air, as if she’s gotten a weight off her chest. 

Earlier she’d been guilty, sorry, even. Now she only feels pride, and maybe just a little bit of happiness. She’d done the right thing in the end. She’d gotten just a little bit of justice for Polly. Not much, but it was a start. And maybe she could get some justice for Jason too, although she wasn’t sure how that was possible. 

She knew that it wasn’t Archie’s fault, not really. But he was complicit. Somehow, he was complicit. 

But she couldn’t prove it. 

All she had was Jughead’s rather ominous words, and her gut feeling and Polly’s diary, none of which she was sure would stand up in a court of law. Or even in a murder investigation. 

Or at all. 

After all, she has no solid proof of Archie and Miss Grundy’s affair. It would be her word against theirs. And what weight would her word carry against Archie’s _and_ Miss Grundy’s?

 _I need something else_ , she thinks, heart suddenly pounding in her chest. _I need some solid proof_.

She runs through everything in her head. She had Polly’s diary connecting Jason to Miss Grundy. She had no physical evidence of Archie’s affair with Miss Grundy, but maybe she wouldn’t need any if she could crack the case right open and find out who killed Jason Blossom.

‘So,’ comes a voice from the shadows. ‘You know then.’

Betty recognises Jughead’s voice without having to turn. ‘Well you know me, Jug. Nothing gets past me.’

Jughead snorts. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’

‘Whatever,’ Betty says. ‘What are you even doing here?’

‘I’m here to see you, of course.’

‘Why?’

‘I need your help.’

‘Again, why?’

‘I’m going to find out who killed Jason Blossom.’

In the darkness, Jughead’s eyes are shining, and Betty knows that he’s telling the truth. He wants to solve this mystery as much as she does, although for Betty the personal stakes are much higher. 

‘And I want you to help me.’

In the end it isn’t even a choice. It’s just something that she has to do. For Polly, for her parents, for herself. For Jason, and even for Archie. Betty’s nodding yes before she can stop herself and ask if this is really a good idea. 

‘I’ll help,’ she says, and her hands are shaking. ‘And I think I know where we should start.’

‘Lead the way,’ Jughead says, and he’s smiling.

Betty smiles back. She’s not tired anymore. 

* * *

Archie’s pacing, back and forth and back and forth, again and again. He can’t seem to keep still. 

His guitar lies on his bed, abandoned for the anxious pacing. His half written lyrics are a scribbled mess. 

He looks to Betty’s window. Her room is empty, but her window is open and her curtains are fluttering in the breeze. It’s a strangely intimate view, and if Archie didn’t hate Betty’s guts with everything he has in him, he’d be embarrassed.

Instead he’s just annoyed. Annoyed that he’d gotten sloppy, that he’d let his guard down, even if it was only for a moment and let Betty in, and she’d taken that moment and exposed him to the light of day without even a sorry. 

And the light of day hadn’t been a gentle sunrise. It had been the harsh heat of a desert sun burning into his skin and making him feel as though he was on fire. Betty had pulled the rug out from under his feet, except he’d fallen into the ocean instead of onto the ground.

And now he’s drowning.

The light in Betty's room flickers on and without thinking Archie glances over. 

Betty’s not there. Instead, Alice Cooper enters her daughter’s room, a blue book tucked under her arm.

Archie isn’t sure how to process what she does next. 

Alice walks straight over to Betty’s bedside table, pulling open the top drawer with such vigour that Archie is worried she might break it. 

She doesn’t. Instead she pulls out a pink book, identical to the one she’s already holding. She flips through the pages in a frenzy. Archie doesn’t think he’s ever seen Mrs Cooper as anything other than perfectly put together. 

But whatever she reads in the little pink book sends Alice over the edge. Archie can’t force himself to look away. He can see the makeup running down her face, black lines on her cheeks.

She cradles the book to her chest, running her fingers down its spine. 

Archie turns away. He has a bad feeling about this, whatever this is. 

* * *

The next day dawns bright and clear. Archie gets a little more sleep than he did the night before, probably because Betty hadn’t sent him any texts that promised retribution. 

He eats breakfast like he does normally, says goodbye to his dad like he does normally. 

And then there is a knock on the front door.

‘I’ll get it!’ he calls out.

He opens it to find Betty, tears evident on her cheeks, hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She looks almost gaunt, and fearful, and like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Betty says, her eyes red and her face pale. ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen.’

‘For what to happen?’ Archie asks. ‘Betty, what are you talking about?’

Betty doesn’t say anything, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers again. ‘She wasn’t meant to find out. Not like this.’

Archie takes Betty by the shoulders, holding her in place. ‘What are you talking about? What happened? Who wasn’t meant to find out what?’

Betty just shakes her head. ‘I have to go,’ she whispers, turning away.

Archie groans in frustration. It seems that everywhere he turns he finds a new secret, a new mystery, when all he really wanted, really _needed_ was just a little bit of clarity. 

‘Archie,’ says Fred, his phone dangling loosely in his hand.

‘Yeah, dad?’ Archie asks. He’s never seen his father like this, so worn out and tired. ‘What is it?’

Fred sighs. ‘Son, we need to talk.’

* * *

‘Did you hear the news?’ Kevin hisses, grabbing onto Betty’s arm. ‘Miss Grundy was fired! Apparently she was sleeping with a student. Can you believe that? What if it was someone we knew! First murder, now secret affairs? What’s next? Conspiracy? A cult? A…’

Betty tunes him out. All she can think about is her mother’s smug face, still wet with tears, yet triumphant. 

How had Riverdale come to this? The secrets and the murder and the lies?

How had anything ever escalated this far, to Riverdale’s golden boy washing up dead on the shore of Sweetwater River, to Archie Andrews being discovered to be having an illicit affair with the school’s music teacher. 

_Oh Archie_ , Betty thinks, rubbing her hands against her arms. Somehow she has goosebumps. Somehow she’s cold, right down to her bones. _I’m so sorry_.

* * *

Jughead types fast. His fingers fly across the keyboard, capturing the moments happening around him. Finally, he’s hit his stride. Finally he’s found a story worth telling.

All he has to do now is find a killer, find and killer and document it all. 

And then everything will fall into place, just like it was always meant to.

 _You don’t know it yet_ , he thinks, gazing out across the school grounds, at the students who are chattering amongst themselves. _But I notice everything_. _And that will be your downfall._

The bell rings, and Jughead punches out one last sentence, the turning point of his novel, and perhaps the turning point in reality as well. 

_And everything we thought was true turns out to be a lie, and everything we thought we stood for turns out to be a mirage._

_Nothing has changed, not really. The darker parts, the corrupt parts of Riverdale have been revealed, and tomorrow morning, when we wake up, the world as we know it will once again be changed._   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, all the love goes to cara.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @[thephantomsandjulie](https://thephantomsandjulie.tumblr.com) and on twitter @[ahobbitinahole](https://twitter.com/ahobbitinahole). feel free to come and talk to me anytime!
> 
> the title and all chapter titles are drawn from Zara Larsson’s ‘ruin my life’.


	4. i’m sleeping alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well RML nation: it’s been a hot minute!
> 
> my editor has once again proven herself to be an angel and i adore her!! 
> 
> thank you for reading!

It takes almost no time at all for things to go back to normal - or as normal as Riverdale can get these days. 

Ms Grundy disappears without a trace, leaving only rumours in her wake. There are all kinds of rumours too, but the only one that is actually true is debunked by Principal Weatherbee. 

Archie returns to school like normal, like his whole world hasn’t just imploded. He’s avoiding Betty again, and for once she’s glad. For once she needs the silent treatment and loaded glares. It’s the only thing that’s keeping her sane. It’s the only thing that’s reminding her that things _can_ go back to normal. That she doesn’t have to feel anything for Archie except for hate. 

She doesn’t want any of this, not really. 

She doesn’t want to have nearly kissed Archie Andrews in a closet the night that Jason Blossom was found with a bullet wound straight through the middle of his head. She wants to not know the real reason why Jason and Polly broke up, and she wants never to have snooped in Polly’s diary, and found out all of her secrets, even if Polly wasn’t there to know. 

These days, normal is a world away, and Betty hates it. She wishes that she didn’t have a morbid curiosity to discover who would want Jason Blossom dead. She wishes that she hadn’t agreed to help Jughead with whatever clandestine investigation he had going on. 

She wishes she could go back to being the girl next door, even if she’d hated it once upon a time. At least the girl next door could be excited about finally making the cheerleading squad without wondering if she knew a murderer. 

_You could have been fine_ , she thinks. _But you just had to go and rock the boat_ , _didn’t you?_

But Betty knows, deep down, the Riverdale is now forever changed by the murder of Jason Blossom, and it is all that she can do to survive it.

* * *

‘Are you ready?’ Jughead asks, examining Betty closely. She looks tired. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a low ponytail. It throws him off guard a little. He’s only ever seen her with a high ponytail, cheerleader like, even though this is the first year she’s ever been a cheerleader.

‘I’m all good to go,’ Betty says, but she sounds tired too. 

They’re standing in her room. It’s weird, because Jughead’s never actually been in a girl’s room before. Or even a proper bedroom in a really, really long time. It’s a lot more pink than he might have guessed, and light streams in from the windows. 

It’s a pretty room, Jughead decides. It suits Betty, even though he doesn’t know enough about her to make such an assumption. But something about Betty is intrinsically knowable, and maybe her room is just another layer that he has to peel back to truly know her.

He shakes those thoughts out of his head. He doesn’t need distractions at the moment. He doesn’t need anything but a sharp and clear focus on the mission at hand.

‘Where exactly are we going?’ Betty asks, casting an almost longing look out her bedroom window. ‘All you’ve told me is that we’re going to meet a _contact_ which tells me exactly nothing important.’

Jughead shrugs. ‘I did a brief stint at Southside High back in the day. That’s where I met Toni.’

‘Toni?’ Betty asks. ‘And how exactly can Toni help us?’

‘She knows everything there is to know about the Southside,’ Jughead explains. ‘She’s lived there her entire life and her family also founded the Serpents.’

Betty looks even more confused. ‘The Serpents?’

Jughead nods. ‘The Southside Serpents - the gang?’

‘I know what the Serpents are,’ Betty says. ‘I just didn’t know you were friends with one of the members.’

Jughead just smiles. If only she knew the truth. That Jughead knew all of the Serpents. That technically Jughead _was_ a Serpent. That it ran through his veins like blood, because it was his destiny. 

He thinks of his father’s face, the way his stubble had darkened into a beard soon after Gladys had left. The way his eyes had hardened into stone. The way he’d picked up the leather jacket hanging over a chair and put it back on.

Jughead remembers the snake embroidered on that jacket. He remembers the smell of bike fumes, how they’d give him a headache if he stayed outside too long. He remembers the empty beer bottles that littered the trailer he once called home.

But the jacket is forever burned in the back of his mind.

It’s the thing that ruined his life.

* * *

Toni Topaz is not anything like what Betty might have expected. Her hair is pink, for starters, and she wears her leather jacket like a second skin. She’s sarcastic and sassy, yet not easily defined. She is exactly the type of person Betty would expect Jughead to be friends with, and exactly the type of person she’d expect him to stay very far away from. 

Betty likes her immediately.

‘You’re not exactly who I thought Jones here would be friends with,’ Toni says, eyeing Betty with curiosity. 

‘Neither are you,’ answers Betty, but she’s smiling. ‘What were you expecting?’

Toni snorts. ‘Emily the Strange. A black cape. Looks of eyeliner. A pretentious vocabulary. That kind of thing.’

‘Sorry to disappoint,’ Betty grins. ‘I’m afraid that the vampire Jughead’s allegedly friends couldn't make it so I came instead.’

Toni laughs, turning to Jughead. ‘I like her. I like her way more than I like you.’

‘Brilliant,’ Jughead says. ‘We’ve been here five minutes and I’ve already been replaced. Can we _please_ focus?’

‘Sure,’ Toni says. ‘But you still haven’t told what you wanted to talk about. Or why you brought company. Or where we’re going.’

‘We’re going somewhere?’ Betty asks, her curiosity piqued. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Well first,’ Jughead says, actually pulling out a notebook and consulting it. ‘Toni’s going to share the history of the Serpents with you. I don’t know if it’s relevant to the case, but it could prove useful anyway. And then we’re going to visit the one person who might actually have a clue about what’s going on.’

‘Who’s that?’ Toni asks. ‘Please don’t say the Sheriff.’

Jughead scoffs. ‘Of course not. I’m talking about Cheryl, of course.’

‘Huh,’ says Toni. ‘The twin sister of that Blossom kid?’

‘Yes,’ Betty interjects. ‘But I’m really not sure that’s a good idea, Jug. She hates me at the best of times.’

‘Hopefully,’ Jughead says. ‘She’ll slip up and reveal something while she’s busy yelling at you due to her severely misplaced anger.’

‘Why misplaced?’ Toni asks, ‘did you or did you not do something to anger her?’

‘My sister and her brother used to date,’ Betty explains. ‘Cheryl didn’t take it well. At all.’

‘Family drama.’ Toni muses. ‘I can relate.’

‘She can!’ Jughead explains. ‘Toni, tell her!’

Toni rolls her eyes. ‘What do you know about the Serpents?’

Betty shrugs. ‘They’re a gang. From the Southside. Not much else.’

‘The Serpents,’ Toni says, ‘were founded by my family, for the protection of my family. Over the years, however, things have changed. The Serpents used to be a gang focused on the protection of those who needed protecting, those who needed to be sheltered from the world. 

‘That all changed when Forsythe Pendleton Jones took over as leader from my great uncle. He was his second - second in line to the throne, that is. My great uncle had no children, and his brother - my grandfather - refused to join the gang because he thought that it would corrupt him like it corrupted his brother.’

‘Did it?’ Betty asks. ‘Did it corrupt his brother?’

‘Not as much as it corrupted my grandfather,’ Jughead says. 

‘That’s true,’ Toni says. ‘Jughead’s grandfather was not a great leader, or a father, according to the stories that FP’s let loose over the years. He was an alcoholic, although drunk is probably the better term. Under his leadership that gang transformed from town heroes into those people would cross the street to avoid. Soon, the Serpents became known for running drugs and opening clubs that criminals frequented in.

‘And to make matters worse, Forsythe Pendleton Jones the first left. He abandoned the gang. He left, and he hasn’t been seen since.’

‘That’s true.’ Jughead mutters. ‘The only thing that dad complains about more than my mother is my grandfather. I don’t believe that he’s ever said a nice thing about him.’

Toni grins. ‘The only bright spot in our history is FP. He turned the gang around - him and his girlfriend, Alice. They were the Serpent King and Queen. They were pretty good at their jobs as well, but they were only teenagers. Then Alice got pregnant and broke up with FP and he’s been spiralling ever since.’

‘Well, he did meet my mother and have two children.’ Jughead protests. ‘I think that counts for _something_.’

Betty’s quiet. ‘His girlfriend’s name was Alice?’

‘Yeah,’ says Toni. ‘Apparently she got out of Riverdale and went to live out her big city dreams without him. It was all very dramatic.’

‘Alice Smith,’ Jughead pipes up. ‘The bane of my father’s existence. He's really losing it these days because he talks about her like she’s still around.’

‘Anyway,’ Toni says. ‘That’s the story of the Serpents. What’s next Jughead?’

‘Cheryl’s house,’ Jughead says. ‘It’s this way.’

They stroll off in the direction that he’s pointing. Betty follows slowly, and carefully, turning thoughts over in her mind.

She doesn’t know what this means, but she has an inkling. 

Her mother was a Serpent.

And Betty might just have a sibling.

* * *

His Saturday starts in the usual way. Shower and breakfast and walking Vegas. Glaring out his bedroom window even though Betty’s curtains are shut. Glaring as if she might be able to feel his wrath through the glass. 

What’s different is the silence. Fred doesn’t speak much. Normally Archie would mistake his silence for anger but he knows that his father isn’t angry, not really. He just doesn’t know what to say.

Archie doesn’t mind the silence. He doesn’t know what to say either.

After breakfast he wanders out to the backyard, sitting on the old tire swing Betty used to love when they were kids. 

_Betty_.

Her name reverberates around his brain, bouncing off the walls of his head. He hates that even after all of these years not being friends, after barely even speaking for god knows how long, that she can still have the same effect on him. That he’s thinking about her even though she had a hand in ruining his life, even if her intentions were good.

He hates her.

He does.

In the back of his mind he can practically see Jughead rolling his eyes. He knows what Jughead would say - _really, Archie? Hate’s a strong word, you know._

And then Archie would say something like; _well you don’t know what she’s done. You don’t know what she did to me_.

Somehow, Jughead, with that all knowing way of his, would raise his eyebrows, looking at Archie through his hair. _What she did to you now, or what she did to you then?_

Archie would frown, he knows he would, because what’s Jughead talking about?

Jughead would laugh, shaking his head. He’d act like everything was right with the world and nothing was bothering him. But there’d be something in his eyes that would give him away. A hint of annoyance. A little bit of anger. Even in hypothetical conversation Jughead is larger than life, his mannerisms as real as anything else. 

Archie knows, because he’s seen it before. Because all of his and Jughead’s conversations inevitably lead back to Betty - why had they stopped being friends?

That was always the question on Jughead’s lips. 

And Archie could never remember. 

He remembers being kids with Betty, best friends, even. They lived next door to each other - it was hard not to be. He remembers the way that her hair had always been in pigtails or plaits or braids, always swinging around her head as she laughed. 

He remembers the little things like how she scraped her knee when she fell off her bicycle once and didn’t shed a single tear. Archie had been impressed. That’s when he’d started to see her as more than just the girl next door. She was his _friend_.

And then it was over. Betty didn’t come around anymore and Archie didn’t ask her too. There was no more bike riding or tire swinging or laughter or pigtails.

Where there once was everything, now there was nothing. 

Archie can’t remember. That in itself worries him. He _should_ remember. He remembers before and he remembers after. 

He reaches back into his mind. Searches through the depths of his memory. Why can’t he remember? What is he hiding from himself?

And then -

It breaks through.

* * *

It starts like this:

A sunny day. No clouds in the sky - just blue, stretching on for miles and miles. Colours are brighter, smiles are wider. The day is good. It shows no signs of what is to come. 

And what is to come?

Only time will tell.

It starts like this:

A cool breeze in the air. A gentle feeling of apprehension. A boy and girl, young, sitting together, soaking up the sun. Laughter can be heard. It floats in the wind. 

It starts like this:

The girl’s father calls her home. She goes, but the boy stays alone. He is scruffy: messy hair and limbs too long for his body. There is dirt on his cheek, on his clothes, on his no longer pristine white shoes. 

The boy sits for a long time. And then, for no discernible reason, he rises, tiptoeing through his house, careful not to disturb his parents. No floorboards creak, and he enters his backyard.

It starts like this:

The boy peers over the fence, stretching himself up as far as he can go, standing on the very tips of his toes.

He sees a backyard similar to his own. His friend - the girl - is sitting on the grass, small hands clutching a rock. Her face is blank. The boy can see that, even from this distance. 

It starts like this:

Looming over her is the stern figure of her father, tall and imposing, something between a smile and a frown etched on his face. He makes a small gesture, almost _well, what are you waiting for?_

The girl frowns, but doesn’t let go of the rock. She leans down, frowning at what is lying on the ground in front of her.

The boy squints and holds on tightly to the fence. He can see now, what she sees. A cat, with caramel coloured fur, lying on the ground, asleep, or maybe dead.

The cool breeze turns cold, and there is ice in the boy’s veins now. He doesn’t know whether to keep watching or to turn and run away, back to the warmth of his house.

It starts like this:

The boy keeps watching. Fixes his eyes on the scene as if he cannot quite look away. 

And he can’t. His limbs have turned to stone. He prays, even though he has never prayed in his life, that he will not be seen. He crosses his toes in his dirty white shoes and hopes with all of his might that the cold will thaw and the sun will come out and that boy and girl can bask in its rays once again. 

He does not look away, even as the girl raises the rock above her head, face still curiously blank. He does not flinch, does not blink, does not falter. He stays there, steady and still and waits for the inevitable.

It ends like this:

The boy watches as the girl, who has never even hurt a dragonfly before, brings the rock down, smashing it hard. 

He watches as the stone turns red with blood, dark blood, the blood of an animal.

He watches as the girl kills her beloved cat in cold blood, eyes hooded and face drawn, no emotion to be seen. 

He watches it all and he does to gasp or choke or make any noise at all. He refuses to move, because surely he has something wrong. Surely there is something that he is missing. Perhaps this is all a hoax, a practical joke. 

But somehow, deep down, he knows that it cannot be. Some things cannot be faked, and even though there is still so much of the world he has yet to see, he knows that this is one of them. 

It ends like this:

The girl looks up at her father, eyes wet with tears and hands stained with blood. The man nods, a hint of a smile on his face and a hard look in his eyes. He takes the girl by her hand, not seeming to mind the red that he gets on his. He leads her back towards the house.

It ends like this:

The man looks over his shoulder.

The boy does not move, does not even shiver.

But it doesn’t matter. 

It doesn’t matter at all.

It ends like this:

The boy and girl don’t play together anymore, even when the sun is high and the sky is blue, no cloud in sight. The boy and girl don’t talk anymore, not even when they see each other in the street. If the girl has a scrape on her knee the boy does not ask if she got it from falling off her bicycle. 

They are strangers. The only thing they share is the view out of their bedroom windows. But their curtains stay shut, and for the rest of the town that shelters them, it is like they were never friends at all. 

It ends like this:

The boy with the beanie is the boy’s new friend. He’s a little scrappy, but the boy doesn’t mind. He says things that the boy doesn’t understand, but the boy doesn’t mind. The boy with the beanie is good company - he’s happy to sit in the sun and feel the warmth on his face.

It ends like this:

The boy grows up, just like everyone else does. He grows up tall and strong and happy. His bicycle loses its training wheels and the tire swing in his backyard remains untouched. 

The girl grows up too, trading in her pigtails for a singular one, perched high on the top of her head. The scrapes on her knees turn to scars on the palms of her hands.

But the boy doesn’t know that. 

It begins again like this:

The boy and girl don’t speak at all, not really, not until they’re trapped in a closet for seven minutes, air mingling together, faces almost touching. 

Fragile, they are, the boy and girl. 

And despite the rumours and the whispers and the theories and the stares, the boy and girl never tell anyone why they aren’t friends, why they don’t speak and don’t smile and avoid each other like a plague. 

Only the boy with the beanie notices this though, because he notices everything. He has his own theory, of course - he often does. 

He wonders if maybe the boy and girl don’t say anything of their hatred because they don’t remember ever being friends, because they don’t remember why they stopped. 

He doesn’t tell anyone this theory, keeps it to himself and nurses it and guards it. 

He thinks that perhaps the wrong story is being told. 

It begins like this:

Everyone knows that Archie Andrews and Betty Cooper hate each other. 

But what if they didn’t, not really? 

_That_ would be a story worth telling.

* * *

‘Every town has one,’ Jughead says, stepping onto perfectly manicured lawns. ‘The spooky house that all the kids avoid.’

Toni rolls her eyes. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

Betty grins. ‘No one likes Thornhill, not even the people who live there.’

‘You know it has its own graveyard?’ Jughead says conversationally. ‘And the legend has it that trapped within its walls is Cheryl Blossom, a gothic heroine for the ages.’

Toni rolls her eyes again. Betty’s liking her more and more by the minute. ‘Her brother just died, Jones. Cut her some slack.’

‘Yeah, Jones,’ Betty cuts in. ‘You could stand to have some empathy.’ 

Jughead glares at them both. ‘Cheryl regularly called me ‘hobo’ _before_ Jason died. She was horrible then and she’s horrible now.’

Toni and Betty exchange glances. As much as she would like to agree with Toni, Betty knows that Jughead’s right. Cheryl’s never been the nicest. Grief has only magnified her cruelty. 

‘Come on,’ Toni mutters, leading the way up the gravel driveway. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

They ring the doorbell with only the slightest hesitation and a lot of apprehension. Betty isn’t sure what they’re going to achieve - after all, isn’t she the last person that Cheryl would want to talk to, after everything that happened with Jason and Polly?

 _Maybe Cheryl doesn’t know_ , the little voice in her head whispers. _No one else knew, so why would she?_

The door opens. Cheryl is dressed entirely in white - there is even a bow in her hair. Betty takes a steading breath to calm herself. 

‘Hello Cheryl,’ Jughead says, carefully, as if Cheryl will shatter if he says the wrong thing. 

‘Hobo,’ Cheryl snaps. She eyes Betty carefully. ‘Bride of hobo.’ She ignores Jughead’s spluttering, instead focusing her attention on Toni. ‘And I don’t know you.’

‘I’m Toni,’ Toni says, offering a hand, which Cheryl pointedly ignores. ‘Toni Topaz.’

‘Hmph,’ Cheryl mutters, eyeing them like they’re a particularly terrible smell. ‘What are you doing here then?’

‘We have a few questions,’ Betty says gently. ‘A few questions about Jason.’

There is a change immediately. Cheryl stiffens, her face goes pale. The hand that is holding the front door open turns white with pressure. 

‘I see,’ Cheryl says. ‘Why?’

‘We want to find out what happened to him,’ Jughead says.

‘And you think you can do that better than the police can?’ Cheryl says, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Jughead, you look like you’re homeless. Betty’s only claim to fame is the fact that she and her next door neighbour hate each other - and you!’

She directs that at toni, ignoring Jughead’s ashen face and Betty’s pout. 

‘You’re in a gang, and I don’t associate myself with criminals.’

There is silence. Even Cheryl looks shocked that she’d taken it that far. 

‘What about your brother?’ Betty asks, looking Cheryl directly in the eye. ‘Did Jason associate himself with criminals?’

Cheryl scoffs. ‘Of course he didn’t. He was a Blossom. Mother and father were preparing him to take over the family business. Jason was in charge of our family’s legacy. He wouldn’t do anything to tarnish that. _Never_.’ 

Betty swallows. ‘Not even for love?’

‘Are you saying that you think your sister killed Jason?’ Cheryl asks, raising her eyebrows. ‘The thought did cross my mind, although I’m surprised you’d go there. Isn’t Polly Cooper even more perfect than you are?’

‘I wasn’t suggesting that Polly murdered Jason,’ Betty says stiffly. ‘I’m saying that maybe she knew things about Jason that you didn’t. And by maybe I really mean that she _did_ know things about Jason that you clearly don’t. Things that I know.’

Cheryl leans forward. Her eyes are alight with rage, heartbreak, and everything in between. ‘My brother was a good person, Elizabeth. He was a good person and he didn’t deserve to die. And your sister didn’t deserve to be loved by him, even before she went crazy.’

Betty ignores the jab. ‘Even good people do bad things sometimes, Cheryl. Even the people we believe to be the best of humanity can betray us.’

‘Very poetic,’ Cheryl snorts. ‘So very poetic. But there’s no substance to it.’

‘Jason took music lessons, didn’t he?’ Jughead asks, finally cottoning on to her plan. ‘He took music lessons with Ms Grundy, correct?’

‘Yes,’ Cheryl snaps, ‘but I have no idea what the hell that has to do with anything -’

She cuts off, her eyes widening. Betty knows that she’s connecting the dots in her head, everything that’s happened in the last week finally becoming clear. 

‘Oh,’ says Cheryl. Her hand drops off the door. She looks numb. ‘He had so many music lessons.’

She falls forward, straight into Toni’s arms, in a dead faint. 

Betty and Jughead look at each other in shock. 

‘Who’s Ms Grundy, and why are music lessons so important?’ Toni asks. ‘And can someone help me with the gothic heroine?’

* * *

Jughead settles himself into the nearest chair, pulling out his notebook and a pen. He feels a little silly, but he doesn’t want to miss anything that Cheryl might say, especially now that she’s sort of on their side - or at least willing to cooperate.

Betty’s wrapping a blanket around Cheryl’s shoulders, while Toni boils water to make tea. It’s all very quaint, the kind of thing that Riverdale would be known for if not for all of the secrets and the murder and everything in between. 

‘So,’ he starts. ‘Cheryl…’

He trails off. He doesn’t know where to begin. He doesn’t know _how_ to begin. 

‘Jason started playing piano when he was seven years old,’ Cheryl says, in a dull monotone voice. ‘He was good - better than good. He had a way with music, although my parents refused to see it. 

‘He loved writing his own music too. By hand, on scraps of paper he found lying around the house. He could never write if he sat down to do it, but he could write all the time when he didn’t mean to.

‘He wrote me a song once, called _Cherry Blossom_. I played it at his funeral, you know. I had to pester and nag him to record it, but in the end he let me. He always caved. _Always_.’

Her voice breaks. ‘I just don’t understand how someone who loved something that much could betray it in that way. I don’t understand why he would do something like that. What he would get out of it.’

‘It’s not about that,’ Betty says gently. ‘We don’t know his motivations, only what he did. We’re dealing in facts, Cheryl. Not emotions.’

‘I knew something was wrong,’ Cheryl says, seeming to draw strength from Betty’s words. ‘He was being cagey about where he was going after school. I thought he was meeting up with Polly, because it seemed like something two lovestruck teenagers would do. But I know that he wasn’t meeting her because he always came back smelling like roses.’

‘Polly hates roses,’ Betty mutters. ‘She’s always hated roses.’

‘I _know_ ,’ Cheryl snaps. ‘I know that much. That’s why I knew it wasn’t her. But I wanted to believe that Jason was good, that he was _better_. I guess I just fooled myself into thinking that he was good, through and through.’

‘We don’t know that,’ Jughead tries, but Betty and Toni shoot him twin glares.

‘We don’t have all the facts,’ Toni whispers, stroking Cheryl’s hair. ‘For all we know, there’s a reasonable explanation for everything that happened. Jason’s still your brother, and he still loved you. Probably more than anyone else.’

‘I know,’ Cheryl whispers, and she smiles then, a slight curling up of her lips. 

They leave her like that, bundled up in front of the fire, watching the embers and the colours, blanket still wrapped around her, hands holding a cup of lukewarm tea.

She seems peaceful, serene, almost. 

Jughead feels sorry for her though. Just a little bit. 

But more than he’s ever felt sorry for her before. 

They leave Thornhill behind. And even though Jughead had been joking, earlier in the day, about Thornhill being the house that all of the kids avoid, he’s glad to be leaving it behind him. He can’t imagine being Cheryl, having to stay there every day, with ghosts in the walls and the dining room table. 

He quickens his pace, catching up to Toni and Betty. A weight goes off his shoulders. 

The evil, he feels, is behind him.

* * *

Betty smiles to herself as she climbs the stairs to her room. It had been a good day - one of the best she’s had since Jason Blossom was discovered in Sweetwater River. This had been the kind of day she would write down in her diary, watching the words form like perfect poetry. She slumps down on her bed. There is an extra name in her phone, an extra spring in her step, even if she might have a secret sibling.

Now, if only she could give Archie some kind of peace, some kind of apology, then everything would be perfect. 

There is a rap on her window. By habit, Betty looks across her room.

But Archie’s curtains are closed. They’ve been closed ever since she showed up on his doorstep in tears. She can’t quite blame him. 

She turns to her other window instead. Poking his head through with a smile is Jughead, beanie still stuck decidedly on his head. 

‘Hey there Juliet,’ he says, hands resting on the windowsill. 

‘Hi?’ Betty asks. ‘What are you doing here? And how did you get _up_ here?’

‘I borrowed a ladder,’ Jughead grins. ‘I thought it was appropriate.’

Betty doesn’t ask what’s so appropriate about something like that. She just rolls her eyes - this is just another instance of Jughead being Jughead. 

‘I thought we made great headway today,’ Jughead says, looking at her keenly. ‘I thought you were brilliant.’

Betty almost laughs. ‘But I barely even did anything but stand there while you and Toni did all of the talking!’

‘But you got Toni to like you within the first five minutes of meeting you,’ Jughead protests, coming closer. ‘That’s impressive in itself. She didn’t start liking me until at least three weeks into our acquaintance.’

Betty rolls her eyes. ‘It’s probably because you say things like that unironically.’

‘Anyway,’ Jughead continues, as if she hadn’t said anything at all. ‘There’s something I wanted to do, while I still had the nerve.’

‘Yeah?’ Betty asks, still not quite looking at him. She doesn’t like where this is going. Something’s up - or something’s wrong. ‘You can tell me anything, Jug, you know that.’

‘Yeah,’ Jughead whispers, and takes her face in his hands and kisses her. 

Betty freezes. Her body goes numb and she freezes. This is something that she had never imagined, not even in her wildest dreams. Jughead had always been reserved in the same box as Archie - _never going there ever_.

Jughead breaks the kiss. Betty stares. Her mouth is dry, she can’t make words form in her mouth. All she can think about is the closet at Cheryl’s house, when she hadn’t even kissed anyone. 

When she hadn’t kissed anyone and yet still felt more than when Jughead’s lips were on hers. 

Betty knows that Jughead means well. She knows that he’s putting himself out there and that her next move has to be well played. She likes him, she does. But she doesn’t like him enough and she doesn’t want to break his heart, even though that seems inevitable. 

‘I,’ she begins, scrambling for the right words to say. ‘I -’

‘It’s okay,’ Jughead says. ‘I get it.’

‘You do?’ Betty asks. ‘But I haven’t even said anything!’

‘You like someone else,’ Jughead says, matter of factly. ‘You like someone else, even if you pretend that you don’t, and you always have.’

He turns, lowering himself out the window once again. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. We still have work to do, and you don’t get to make it awkward.’

‘Okay,’ Betty murmurs, still stuck on who Jughead thinks she might like. She buries her head in her hands. How had the good day ended up like this? 

Her phone buzzes. She lifts her head and fishes it out of her bag. 

On the screen is a message, from the very last person she expect would want anything to do with her. 

She looks out her window. 

Archie’s holding his phones, eyes fixed on her. 

The message glows brightly on the phone’s screen. 

**Archie:** _we need 2 talk_

 **Betty:** _abt what?_

 **Archie:** _you’ll see_

The curtains snap shut. 

And once again, Betty is alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, all the love goes to cara.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @[thephantomsandjulie](https://thephantomsandjulie.tumblr.com) and on twitter @[ahobbitinahole](https://twitter.com/ahobbitinahole). feel free to come and talk to me anytime!
> 
> the title and all chapter titles are drawn from Zara Larsson’s ‘ruin my life’.


	5. i'm starting to freeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RML Nation!! thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoy this chapter, which is the longest so far, and FULL of drama!! it's a wild ride and i hope that you all enjoy it!!
> 
> as always, special thanks to the editor for everything that she does!!

Betty wakes up nervous. She wakes up afraid. She doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. 

She showers and dresses and eats on autopilot. All she can think about are the cryptic text messages that Archie had sent her last night, right before he’d yanked his curtain shut, leaving her with an ominous feeling for what was to come. 

And then, this morning, another text message, which read:

 **Archie:** _meet me in the garden_

And that was it. No explanation, no apology for leaving her in the dark. Nothing. Just more questions with zero answers on the horizon. 

Betty tightens her ponytail, refreshing her resolve. Maybe this is payback for the Grundy situation. Maybe this is nothing at all, maybe all Archie’s trying to do is psych her out. Make her scared for no good reason. 

Ruin her life like she ruined his. 

She shakes those thoughts out of her head and heads out to the garden. Maybe it’s time to settle this feud once and for all. 

* * *

Archie’s not in the garden. He’s nowhere to be seen. Betty wraps her arms around herself. She’s not cold, but somehow she feels like she might need the comfort. 

She doesn’t like the garden. She never has. It reminds her of the graveyard at Thornhill - haunted by those who no longer have physical bodies. Betty doesn’t believe in the supernatural, but for some reason she always gets the feeling that this garden has seen death. 

A stick breaks, and Betty turns to see Archie behind her, his face grave. 

‘Thanks for meeting me,’ he says, as if this is something casual and not two lifelong enemies having a rendezvous in the creepiest garden in the northern hemisphere. 

‘You’re welcome,’ Betty says carefully. ‘Why am I here?’

‘I’ve had a lot of time to think,’ Archie begins, as if she hadn’t even spoken. ‘While I was being grounded-’

‘Aren’t you still grounded?’ Betty bursts out, unable to contain herself. ‘If you’re still grounded, why are you here?’

Archie scowls, clearly not happy that she’s interrupted his carefully planned monologue. ‘Dad said that I can have Sunday off as long as I didn’t go into town. And given that I’ve only gone next door, I’m pretty sure I’m safe from any punishment.’

‘Okay,’ Betty says. ‘So what exactly am I doing here?’

‘You already said that,’ Archie snaps. ‘And I was answering when you interrupted. Just let me speak, okay?’

‘Fine,’ Betty snaps back, and shoves her hands into her pockets in silent retaliation. ‘Please. Continue then.’

‘As I was saying,’ Archie says, his eyes travelling over to where Betty’s childhood kitten is buried under an oak tree. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think, and during that time I sorted through why we hate each other.’

Betty resists the urge to interrupt again. She doesn’t know what mutual hate could possibly have to do with _anything_. 

‘And I realised that there are some things I remember, and some things that I don’t. Especially about when we were friends.’

Betty frowns. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘When we were friends,’ Archie says, slowly, as if she’s missing something obvious. ‘When we were kids, we were friends.’

‘No we weren’t,’ Betty says. ‘We were never friends. What are you talking about?’

Archie looks confused. ‘Of course we were friends. I _remember_ us being friends. You used to love the tire swing in my backyard. Betty, come on. You remember us being friends.’

Something stirs in the back of Betty’s mind, a memory perhaps, of cloudless days and sunshine, of naivety and warmth and smiles too wide to ever be contained. 

But in a flash it disappears. She puts her face in her hands. 

‘I don’t remember,’ she whispers. ‘You’re lying, we were never friends. This is a trick right, this is payback? Well, Archie, you got me. Joke’s over. You won.’

Archie reaches out his hand, as if he wants to touch her, to console her. 

She almost lets him. 

But then she remembers that he’s lying to her right now, he’s lying to hurt her, just like she hurt him. 

But she was trying to help. This is just cruel. 

She flinches away instead. Archie’s hand falls back to his side. 

‘Betty,’ he says gently, and for the first time in a long time she hates the sound of her name on his tongue. ‘Betty, you have to remember, even if only for a little bit.’

‘I don’t,’ she whispers, refusing to look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on the oak tree, unmoving, clutching her hands into fists in the pockets of her coat. ‘I don’t remember anything and I think you should leave.’

‘Then why are you being so defensive?’ Archie asks, and Betty hears the breath fall out of her body. ‘You know I’m right, somewhere deep inside of you. You just don’t want to admit it.’

He pauses, and Betty resists the urge to turn to him, to gauge his expression. 

‘Or maybe,’ he whispers. ‘You don’t remember because you _can’t_.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Betty says stiffly, but somehow she knows that he’s right. Why is she getting so worked about something that allegedly never happened? Why does this feel like a particularly cruel trick when Archie’s done barely anything. Why?

‘It was a sunny day,’ Archie says, his voice closer than before. ‘It was sunny and we were playing on the road outside of our houses. And then your dad came to get you. He came to get you and went with him, and I stayed on the sidewalk, waiting for something, although I don’t know what. 

‘And then I heard a noise, I think. Because I crept through my house and I peeked over the fence.’

Betty hears him move to the fence, no doubt pointing out where he’d been hiding. She keeps her eyes on the oak tree. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of his attention, even if she’s hanging on to his every word, trying to understand. 

‘And you were there, in the garden, kneeling on the grass, and your father was leaning over you. And I remember that I was thinking you looked scared. You were pale. You looked cold. And you were holding a rock. You were holding it over your head. You were holding it over your head and your father was smiling, he was egging you on.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Betty whispers. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’ Her voice sounds fragile to her own ears. She sounds seconds away for shattering. She knows he’s telling the truth. She can feel it, down in her bones. 

There is the crunch of leaves again, and now Archie’s so close that the sound of his breathing causes the skin on her neck to erupt in goosebumps. He reaches out and into her pocket, and wraps his hand around hers.

Betty doesn’t move. She’s afraid of what might happen if she does. 

Archie’s hand is warm around hers. ‘You were holding a rock and then you brought it down.’

‘I brought it down on what?’ Her voice is like ice, cold and fragile. Finally, she turns to look at him, ready to ask again.

But then she sees the expression on his face. 

Then she notices where he’s staring, pained and wretched. 

Then she follows his gaze, right down to where she’d buried her childhood cat under her favourite tree. 

The bile rises up in her throat. It rises and rises until she can’t contain it anymore. 

She throws up all over Caramel’s grave. 

She takes big gulping breaths of air, she feels herself falling to ground as if she can no longer control her limbs. Her ponytail feels too tight, her heart feels like it might beat out of her chest. Her hands are on the ground, her palms are bleeding.

And all at once she can remember. 

It _had_ been a sunny day when the girl had left the boy out on the sidewalk. But it had been cold inside the house when the girl’s father had led her to the kitchen table. 

And on the kitchen table there were rocks. So many rocks. More than the girl had ever seen in her life. 

She’d looked at her father in confusion, and he’d said _pick one_ , as if it should have been obvious. 

The girl had picked up a rock, one that had fit perfectly into the palm of her hand. One that hadn’t been too small, but hadn’t been too big. 

The girl’s father smiled. And then he held out his hand, and he led her to the garden. 

It had been less sunny in the garden, on account of the large oak tree that loomed over the girl and made her feel even smaller than she actually was. 

On the ground was the girl’s cat, the one she had been allowed to pick out at the pet store. The one she had fed milk and named after her very favourite sweet. 

The girl looks up at her father in confusion. She’s scared now, there are tears forming in her eyes, and the rock suddenly feels very heavy in her hand. 

Her father only smiles, and gestures to the cat, as if saying _what are you waiting for?_

The girl’s lip quivers, but she’s a good girl, the kind who follows instructions and does exactly as she’s told, even if she doesn’t want to.

She raises the rock over her head.

And then -

All she can see is red. There’s red on her hands and her coat and her shoes and her tears are sticky too. She’s grasping at the grass, she’s fallen to her knees. Her hair is flying around her face, whipping into her cheeks. Her face is wet and her mouth is dry and she’s cold and brittle and ready to break and -

And then warm arms wrap around her, gentle fingers brush her hair back from her face, and Archie is there, holding onto her as her world changes forever. Archie is there as she shivers and shakes and her tears keep coming harder and faster, until she can hardly breathe and it feels like she’s running out of something, _anything_. 

Archie is there, letting her cry and gulp and tense and scream and break down completely. 

Archie is there, even when she screams at him and thrusts her fists at his coat, pounding her hands on his chest, trying to hurt him, trying to get him to react. 

Archie is there when she calms down, when she stares into space, letting her lean against him, letting him carry her weight. 

Archie is there when the tears come again, softer and slower this time, and he is there, wiping them away, holding her tight and letting her be. 

They stay there for a very long time, until the sun is high in the sky and Betty remembers that she has places to be and things to do and that she needs to put her hair back up and clean her face and wash her hands and -

She doesn’t move. She sits in silence and she smiles, just once, just slightly.  
  
Archie doesn’t say anything, but in the end he doesn’t need to. They’re finally on the same page. There are no words. 

Just...understanding. 

It’s enough. 

It’s enough for now. 

* * *

The coffee tastes bitter on Jughead’s tongue. Everything tastes bitter, when all he can think about is what happened, or rather, what _didn’t_ happen yesterday.

He’d thought, just for a moment, that he and Betty were on the same page. That they were on the same page and he could finally breathe normally in her present.

He’d thought that the moment he’d been waiting for had finally arrived, when everything would fall into place and the stars would align and he’d get the girl. 

But he’d forgotten that he was Jughead Jones, and that Jughead Jones didn’t get girls, even when he put himself out there, as far as he could possibly go. 

Yet Jughead had forgotten one thing, the most important thing. You can’t put yourself out there to someone who doesn’t want you back. 

And Betty didn’t want him back. He knows that now. He’d kissed her and she’d glanced out her bedroom window, as if hoping Archie would appear. 

He’d kissed her and she’d wished he was someone else, he’d kissed her and his entire world had changed. He’d kissed her and her entire world had stayed the same. 

It turns out that Jughead is a lot better at being bitter than being happy. 

The bell rings and Jughead sinks deeper into his booth. He hopes against all hope that it isn’t Betty. Or Archie. Or better yet, anyone who knows him. 

No such luck, although the lesser of evils strolls through the door, wearing a black cape despite the fact that it’s a sunny day and she has to be sweating.

But no, Veronica Lodge looks as cool as a cucumber as she sweeps the hood back from her head and smiles at Pops. 

Jughead fidgets in his booth. He can’t decide if he wants her to see him or if he’d rather be left alone. He can’t decide why he can’t decide. He doesn’t know this girl. And she’s Betty’s friend, which means that she knows all about Jughead’s failure. 

In the end, he doesn’t even get a choice. Veronica glides over, sitting delicately in the booth opposite to him, already raising an eyebrow, no doubt to comment on the state of his clothes. 

But once again, Veronica Lodge surprises him. 

‘Do you live here or something?’ she asks, and Jughead genuinely can’t tell if she’s joking. She’s frowning at him, and he realises that his backpack is sitting next to him, full to the brim of everything he physically owns. The drive in is closed, and so technically Jughead might as well be living at Pops. 

‘I do not live here,’ he says, carefully, and Veronica’s eyebrows once again raise quizzically. ‘I just like the atmosphere, I guess.’

Veronica frowns, looking around. They’re the only two people in the diner. ‘Some atmosphere,’ she says, and leans over and steals some of his cold fries.

Jughead finds that he doesn’t mind. 

‘So,’ she says. ‘Are you one of those weirdos who spends all of their time in run down diners nursing cold cups of black coffee and eating fries without any sauce, writing the next great American novel?’

Jughead slowly looks down at his cup of cold black coffee, his fries that he’d requested without any sauce, and his laptop, open on the table. 

‘I’m not writing the next great American novel,’ he protests, and quickly deletes the most recent line of prose. ‘I’m not even writing a novel.’

‘Could’ve fooled me,’ Veronica smiles, teeth as white as the string of pearls that hangs around her neck. ‘I know you’re writing _something_ , but what?’

Jughead considers his options. On one hand, he barely knows Veronica and he barely knows how she’s going to react. On the other hand, he really does have nothing better to do. 

‘I’m writing about Jason Blossom,’ he says, and Veronica snorts. 

‘The guy they found in the river?’ she asks. ‘I’m not sure that’s going to be a very interesting novel, Torombolo.’

Jughead shrugs off the nickname. ‘It’s about the circumstance of his death. The sheriff thinks that it’s a murder, and I haven’t found any evidence that would protest the contrary.’

Veronica considers this, propping her chin onto her hand. ‘You’ve been investigating on your own, then?’

‘Not completely,’ he says. ‘Betty was helping me, and we talked to Cheryl yesterday as well.’

‘Betty, huh,’ Veronica says, looking knowingly at him. ‘I see how it is.’

‘You really don’t,’ he mutters under his breath, hoping that his cheeks aren’t as red as he suspects they are. 

Veronica hears the tone in his voice and drops the subject. ‘Are you any closer to finding out whodunnit?’

Jughead sighs. It sounds loud in the quiet diner. ‘No closer, but no further away, if that makes sense. I keep thinking that maybe we just need one thing to split the case wide open. But I haven’t figured out what that is yet, and the trail’s getting cold.’

‘Maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way,’ Veronica muses, stealing some more fries. ‘You’re wondering why he was killed right?’

Jughead nods, wondering what she’s getting at. ‘We’re primarily looking for motive, yes.’

‘And motive is important,’ Veronica concedes. ‘But the only reason you’re looking for a motive is because of who he was, right?’

Jughead’s eyes widen. ‘You’re saying that just because Jason was a popular rich kid, it doesn’t mean that he was killed because of it.’

‘Exactly,’ Veronica saying, smiling widely. ‘I’m saying that maybe Jason got into some trouble, or maybe he knew too much about something. And sure, maybe who he was contributed to his death, but you need to look at the bigger picture.’

‘I get it,’ Jughead says frowning. ‘That actually makes a lot of sense.’

‘Well,’ Veronica says, eyes twinkling. ‘I’m glad I could be of some service.’

But Jughead barely hears her. The wheels in his head are turning, faster and faster. Maybe this is what he needed, one simple thing to put everything into perspective. 

‘What were you saying,’ he murmurs, ‘about who Jason was may have contributed to his death?’

Veronica frowns. ‘Just that maybe he was killed for more than one reason. Maybe he knew something. Maybe he got into some trouble, or maybe someone hated him, or maybe he was dating someone he shouldn’t have been or maybe -’

‘That’s it,’ Jughead says, standing suddenly. ‘God, Lodge. You’re a genius.’

Veronica looks pleased, if a little confused. ‘You’re welcome! Wait - where are you going?’

Jughead smiles. ‘I have to go see a man about a horse.’

‘Really?’

‘No,’ he grins. ‘But it’s something like that. I have a hunch. And I hope I’m wrong, but I won’t know for sure until I check it out.’

And then he practically sprints out of the diner, leaving the Veronica Lodge to stare after him. 

And Jughead? 

Well Jughead looks back, just the once. 

It turns out that there is always more to people than meets the eye.

Veronica had proven it to him. And now he needs it to be true.

He might have just solved the only crime that Riverdale will ever have.

* * *

Veronica frowns at the space that Jughead had just vacated. She’d been helpful, sure, but not _that_ helpful.

Unless she was missing something because she wasn’t a part of the sad breakfast club that Betty and Jughead seemed to have going on. 

And speak of the devil. 

Betty rushes through the door of the diner, looking far more frazzled than Veronica has ever seen her, except for perhaps the night of the dance when she’d emerged from the closet with Archie, clutching her phone, face white. 

She looks even more of a mess right now, and Veronica can’t even attempt to sugarcoat it.

Her hair has been scraped back into a messy bun, wisps curling around her face. There are tear tracks on her cheeks and her eyes are red. Veronica can’t tell, but she’s pretty sure that there’s dirt underneath her fingernails. 

Veronica raises her hand hesitantly to wave. She’s not sure if she wants to deal with a Betty who’s clearly gone over the edge, but after all, what are best friends for?

‘Over here, B!’ she says, and Betty turns to her with a look of relief and disappointment. Veronica doesn’t let it phase her. 

‘Veronica,’ Betty exclaims, rushing over. ‘Have you seen Jughead?’

Once again, Veronica doesn’t let it phase her. She’s new in town and everyone else has known each other for years, and people clearly have other things on their minds right now. 

Still she swallows back the bitter taste in her throat and turns her best hostess smile on Betty. ‘He just left, actually.’

‘Oh,’ Betty says, her disappointment palpable. ‘Did he say where he was going?’

Veronica coughs delicately. ‘No. He was too busy rushing out the door. Apparently he has a hunch and he needs to prove himself right.’

‘Okay,’ Betty mumbles, and then blushes a pretty pink. Veronica immediately envies her. On Betty, blushing is sweet, cute. On Veronica it’s just an embarrassing redness. ‘Did he, uh, did he seem angry with me?’

Veronica frowns. ‘Quite the opposite, actually. B, I am one hundred percent sure that Jughead has a _massive_ crush on you. He turned red like a tomato when I mentioned your name.’

Betty buries her head in her hands. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s not why he turned red.’

Veronica’s interest is officially piqued. She leans forward across the table in anticipation. ‘Why would he turn red then? Did something happen between the two of you?’

‘You could say that,’ Betty mutters. ‘He kissed me.’

Veronica lets out a gasp worthy of Hollywood. She’s surprised, of course. Jughead doesn’t exactly seem like the type to put himself out there.

‘And?’ she prods, although given Betty’s reaction she’s sure that it can’t be something good. ‘Was it a terrible kiss? Is that why you’re miserable?’

‘The kiss was fine,’ Betty says, and suddenly Veronica gets it. 

‘The kiss was fine because you don’t like Jughead that way,’ she says. ‘The kiss was fine because you like someone else, right?’

‘That’s what he seemed to think,’ Betty grumbles. ‘I’m just worried that he’ll never talk to me again.’

‘I’m sure that’s not it,’ Veronica says, laying a comforting hand on Betty’s arm. ‘He seemed really swamped with the case.’

‘Jason’s murder?’ Betty asks, perking up immediately. ‘Does he have a new lead?’

‘He does,’ Veronica says smugly. ‘Yours truly helped him see the light.’

‘Really?’ Betty asks, looking at her with new eyes. Veronica basks in it. ‘What did you say?’

‘Oh just that he was looking at the whole thing the wrong way and in order to crack the case he needed a new perspective.’

‘Huh,’ Betty says. ‘And it worked?’

Veronica nods smugly. ‘He was out the door like a rocket the moment I opened my mouth.’

Betty smiles slightly. ‘And what exactly did you tell him that made him so sure he had something?’

‘Well,’ says Veronica, clearly her throat slightly and sitting up a little straighter. She always did like a captive audience. ‘I reminded him that while Jason may have been killed for who he was that there may have been other factors involved.’

‘That makes sense,’ Betty nods, frowning at the table. ‘And he didn’t say where he was going?’

‘Nope,’ Veronica answers, popping the p. ‘Are you okay, B?’

Betty jerks up her head and offers a wan smile. ‘I’m fine. I just got a bit of a shock today, that’s all.’ 

Veronica doesn’t press her for details. Even though she hasn’t known Betty for too long, she knows that Betty will talk when she wants to talk, and not a moment sooner. The perks of having controlling parents, she supposes.

She can relate, after all. 

‘I should go,’ Betty says suddenly, after several minutes of silence. Jughead’s going to need me to help crack the case.’

Veronica frowns. ‘But you don’t even know where he is!’

‘Of course I do,’ Betty says. ‘It’s obvious.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Veronica snaps. ‘Betty, you need to calm down. You’re freaking me out.’

‘It’s okay, V,’ Betty says placatingly, wrapping her hands around Veronica’s. ‘I’ll be fine.’

She leaves before Veronica can say another word. All she can think about are Betty’s hands, dirt embedded under her nails, the dried blood on her palms. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have told Betty about Jughead. Maybe she should have walked Betty home, made sure that she got into her house safely.

Maybe she should call someone, maybe she should -

Should what?

 _There’s nothing you can do_ , she tells herself. _Your best friend is acting weird. So what? That’s not cause for panic, right?_

But all she can think about are the bags underneath Betty’s eyes and the way she’d been shaking when she’d walked through the door.

And how Betty had been cagey about Jughead, about their ill fated kiss. 

She picks up her phone and dials the one person she knows will help.

The only person who might care just as much, even if he pretended not to.

He picks up after the first ring. 

‘Archie?’ she asks, keeping her voice steady, ignoring the thump of her heart in her chest. ‘I need your help.’

Another beat.

‘It’s Betty.’

* * *

Betty runs to Thornhill. Her hair is all over the place and she’s well aware that she looks like a mess, but she knows that she knows something that Jughead doesn’t, something that could help them solve this murder. That could help them put Cheryl’s mind at ease. 

She can’t help but wonder what Veronica had really said to Jughead, her exact words. What had she told him that had sent him off to Thornhill in such a hurry, to the only person who knew Jason, _really_ knew him?

The door to the mansion is ajar, and Betty can hear raised voices. 

‘Shouldn’t you be asking Betty?’ Cheryl asks, her voice angry and loud. ‘She knows far more about Polly than I do. Then anyone does, given that you can’t talk to her parents. God, Jughead, I’m beginning to think that you’re enjoying this. Enjoying tormenting me.’

‘Cheryl,’ Jughead says, and he sounds desperate, although desperate for what, Betty’s not sure. Desperate for answers, maybe? That’s something that they all need, and that’s why she’s run all the way up the hill. 

Answers. 

Just plain answers. Something to explain everything, if that wasn’t too much to ask.

‘Cheryl,’ she says, slumping against the wall, still trying to catch her breath. 

‘Ugh,’ Cheryl grimaces. ‘I can smell your sweat from here. Have you been _running?_ ’

‘Yes,’ Betty gets out, and ignores the glare that Jughead is sending her way. 

‘How did you even know I was here,’ he hisses, snapping his notebook shut. ‘It’s not like I told anyone.’

‘I guessed,’ Betty says, her heart rate finally returning to normal.

‘Good guess,’ Cheryl scoffs. ‘And actually, I’m glad you’re here. Now you can answer all of Jughead’s stupid questions.’

Jughead rolls his eyes. ‘They weren’t stupid, and you’re hiding something.’

‘I’m not hiding anything,’ Cheryl snaps, but she won’t look Jughead in the eye. She won’t look Betty in the eye either. 

‘Cheryl,’ Betty says gently. ‘What do we need to know about Polly, exactly?’

Cheryl shakes her head. ‘It wasn’t just because of Polly, I’m sure of it. He was too angry. Too disappointed. Was it Grundy?’

Betty frowns. ‘I don’t get it.’

Jughead glares at her. ‘Why Jason was murdered. Keep up.’

Cheryl stares off into the distance, like an army widow. ‘Jason was always angry, towards the end. He said that he made some bad deals and that he was going to fake his own death and get out of Riverdale for good. I thought he was joking...but he was serious and…’

She trails off. 

‘And?’ Jughead prompts.

Suddenly everything is crystal clear to Betty. ‘You helped him fake his death,’ she guesses, and Cheryl nods. 

‘I helped him stage the scene at Sweetwater River. He was supposed to call me, as soon as he was safe, and I was supposed to act as if he’d drowned.’

‘But he didn’t call you, did he?’ Betty says gently, seeing the tears that are forming in Cheryl’s eyes. ‘He never called you and then we found him and you knew that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.’

Cheryl nods, head hanging limply. ‘I thought he was just taking longer than he’d expected he would, and then -’

She breaks off, her throat full of tears. Betty reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder. She can feel Jughead’s eyes on her, so full of questions. 

‘Are you any closer now?’ Cheryl asks. ‘Do you know who did it?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Jughead says. ‘I’m really not. I don’t know how it’s all connected.’

Cheryl squares her shoulders and wipes her tears away. ‘Then we start from the beginning, and we work together and we catch this son of a bitch.’

Jughead and Betty exchange glances. And then they nod. 

‘Then let's get to work,’ Cheryl says, and leads them into the house.

The slamming of the door feels very final. 

It feels like their last chance.

* * *

The girl sits silently, frowning at the board in front of her. There are strings connecting everyone they can possibly think of. 

The boy in the beanie props his head against his hand and sighs.

The girl with the hair like fire yawns, stretching out her arms. 

The words are unspoken, but they resonate in the room.

_Where do we go from here?_

The girl picks up a new piece of string and connects two photographs. One is the man she calls her father and the other is the girl with the hair like fire’s brother. 

The boy in the beanie sits up a little straighter. There is a frown on his face. He does not understand the connection, not like the girl does. 

The girl with the hair like fire shares his confusion. She doesn’t understand either. Why would the girl incriminate her father in a murder.

The girl writes something on a piece of paper, forming the words carefully. She pins the paper on the string. 

_Anger and hatred and everything in between_.

The boy with the beanie understands, just like he always has. 

He picks up another piece of string and connects it to the girl with the hair like fire’s brother and the girl’s sister. 

The girl pins another piece of string between her father and her sister.

The girl with the hair like fire understands now too. 

She writes on another piece of paper, her scrawl messy. 

_Grundy?_

The question mark is bold and black. 

The trio exchange glances. 

And then the girl sees what she has been missing, what the boy had helped her remember.

This was never a story of being in the wrong place at the right time or the right place at the wrong time or the wrong place at the wrong time. 

This was a story of a boy who made too many mistakes, whose mistakes caught up to him.

This was a story of a boy who had paid an unfair price. 

The girl with the hair like fire is frowning now. She can’t see the connection. How could the girl’s father know, when no one else did. 

_My sister did_ , the girl whispers, and that’s how she knows. 

The boy in the beanie frowns too. _But she didn’t tell him, did she?_

The girl writes a final word down, and pins it on the board.

She’d found out the same way her father had found out. She’d found out by reading her sister’s own words. 

_Diary_.

The girl with hair like fire gasps. _We have no proof_ , she says. _We have no proof and we need proof_. 

The girl nods. _We can’t do anything, at least, not yet._

The boy in the beanie slams his fists down on the table. The room shakes. The girl with hair like fire is crying now. She’s afraid. The boy in the beanie is afraid too.

But the girl isn’t. She isn’t afraid anymore.

She _refuses_ to be afraid.

 _I don’t understand_ , the boy in the beanie says. _He’s your father. He’s not capable of this. The evidence is circumstantial. We have nothing, and you know it._

 _We have everything_ , the girl says, because she knows things that they do not.

 _And he is capable. We all are_.

Of course the girl’s father is capable. The girl remembers now, the sun in the sky and the blood on her hands and the tears on her face and the death she had caused. She remembers now, the pride in his eyes and his smile and the way he’d gotten her ice cream afterwards. 

She remembers now, and that is how she knows for sure. 

She takes the girl with hair like fire’s hand. She looks the boy in the beanie deep in the eyes.

 _Eventually_ , she whispers, _eventually you will understand_. 

_Have faith_.

And they do have faith, the boy in the beanie and the girl with hair like fire. They nod, once, twice, three times the charm. 

The girl straightens her spine. She wipes her eyes, and cleans the dirt out from under her fingernails. She remembers now and she is stronger for it. She is _better_ for it. 

She takes one last look at the board that they have constructed. It all makes sense in her head now, even if it makes no sense in reality. 

It’s not supposed to make sense, she realises. That is the beauty of it. It is not supposed to make sense to anyone but her. 

Her father had crafted the perfect murder, as a gift just for her. 

All the strings are tied up perfectly, there are no missing links -

Except -

Except for the boy, the boy she loves and hates, the boy she lost and found and -

She is out of the door before she even knows what she is doing. 

She runs and runs and runs, until she can’t run anymore. She leaves behind all of her demons and her angels. All she can think about is the boy. 

All she’s ever thought about is the boy. 

She just hopes she’s not too late. 

* * *

Archie hangs up the phone with a sigh. He never should have left Betty alone, he never should have let her go rushing off on her own. He should have stayed with her and comforted her and let her cry and scream, just so long as he stayed with her. 

He’d been vague on the phone. He’d let Veronica think that she was overreacting, which Archie suspected she was prone to anyway. He’d let Veronica think that Betty was just running on very little sleep and too caught up in a small town mystery to pay attention to the things that were happening around her. 

He didn’t think that he’d lied, not completely. He’d just withheld some of the truth. 

He heads back inside. He has all the free time in the world now that he’s grounded. All the free time in the world to do absolutely nothing. He can’t play football, and he has nothing to write music about anymore anyway. All he can do is sit around and wait. 

At least he’s going to Pops tomorrow with his dad. It’ll be a nice change to the homemade pizzas he’d kept burning when making dinner. 

He strums a few chords on the guitar, just for show. Nothing’s coming to him, even when he tries to actually sit down and write. 

The sun is warm on his face. The bed is soft underneath his body. The guitar slips downward with a gentle thump. 

He wakes up cold and confused. There is a pounding in his skull that he quickly realises is actually a pounding on the front door. 

Archie groans, bouncing down the stairs as if he has more energy that he actually does. 

Betty’s at the door, hair still haywire, eyes still red. She looks a little manic, jumping up and down and standing on her tiptoes. 

‘Hey,’ he says, trying to subtly examine her for signs of everything that Veronica had described. ‘Are you okay?’ 

‘Are _you_ okay?’ she asks, all wide eyed and sweet and Archie melts a little bit right then and there. 

‘I’m fine,’ he says gently. ‘I’ve just got nothing to do.’

Betty smiles then, big and bright and radiant. She looks so happy, so fit to burst that it’s almost amusing. ‘Good,’ she says. ‘You better stay that way.’

Archie laughs. ‘I’ll be sure to stay fine, if that’s what you mean.’

Betty blushes, all pink and adorable. ‘I just meant that you should stay out of trouble.’

‘I’m awesome at staying out of trouble,’ Archie says, and by now he’s aware that he is, in fact, _flirting_ with his once mortal enemy. ‘I’m grounded, remember?’

‘Right,’ Betty says, shaking her head and blushing again. ‘I forgot about that.’

‘Betts,’ Archie says, the nickname rolling off his tongue easily. ‘I’m okay. You don’t need to worry.’

‘And,’ she whispers, looking fragile, ‘and you don’t hate me?’

‘I don’t think I ever really did,’ he admits, and he’s rewarded with another sunshine smile.

‘Okay then,’ she says, ‘I’m going home now.’

‘Okay,’ he grins, and they stand there, staring like idiots, for another three minutes before they remember themselves and turn away. Betty, back to her house, and Archie out to his tire swing for some coffee and contemplation. 

It’s quiet in the backyard. From the swing he can see into the Cooper’s garden, the oak tree where Caramel is buried and the messy ground where Betty had torn up the grass and the dirt. 

It’s strange to be here when no one else is around. It feels too quiet, too abandoned. It feels like the calm before the storm, as if he hasn’t seen anything yet. 

He swings on the tire, letting the cool breeze wash over him, cleanse him of past mistakes. 

And then -

A twig snaps, and Archie stops swinging. 

There is a gap in the fence. A gap that he’d used all those years ago when he’d seen Betty do something she didn’t remember, something that he’d been punished for seeing. 

And there, through the gap, Archie can see him, the true villain of the story. The father who doesn’t deserve the daughters he has. Archie hates him with a passion, like he’s never hated anyone before. 

All at once he’s a child again, the boy from the sidewalk, watching in silence, waiting and keeping his mouth shut. 

All at once he can’t move, he can’t speak, all he can do is watch and wait, just like he did, long ago. 

The man he once trusted is holding a shovel. There is no one else around. Betty’s disappeared. It’s just Archie, on the swing, and the man digging in the dirt beside Caramel’s grave. 

He digs for a long time, methodically placing the dirt into a neat pile that Archie knows he could never achieve. 

He digs and digs and digs until Archie is sure that he can dig no more. 

All at once he stops, and reaches down into the dirt, into the ground, and pulls out something soft and smooth.

Archie feels bile rising in his throat, but he pushes it back down. He can’t afford to make a sound, not now, not when he recognises what the man is holding. 

He’s got one hanging in his closet. 

It’s a jacket. 

It’s a letterman jacket. 

And Archie’s sure, if he could see the name embroidered on the side, that it would read _Jason_ in perfect cursive. 

The man examines it. Once, twice, three times. He lays it on the ground and starts filling up the hole. 

Archie cannot move. He doesn’t even trust himself to breathe. 

But he must make a noise. He must make some sort of sound, because the man looks up. 

He looks up and straight into Archie’s eyes, and Archie can’t help the shiver that goes down his spine. 

His eyes are green, just like his daughter’s. But Betty’s are full of warmth and love and laughter, and his eyes are cold. 

Archie cannot look away.

Hal Cooper, the man who murdered Jason Blossom does not look away. He holds Archie’s gaze until, slowly, his mouth stretches into a smile. 

And then he picks up the jacket and the shovel and walks away, like nothing ever happened.

* * *

Pops is quiet and so is Archie. 

His dad sits across from him in the booth, clearly at a loss for words. Maybe he thinks that Archie’s angry at him. Maybe he thinks that he can’t get through to him.

But all Archie can think about is what he’d seen and what he knows. 

He has to tell someone - but who’d believe him? 

‘Archie,’ his dad says gently, ‘did you wash your hands?’

He shakes his head no and takes the opportunity to splash water onto his face and rub his eyes awake. He doesn’t know what to do or what to say or how he can even begin to explain the things he’s seen and -

There is a crash, like a door opening with far too much force. There is a scream, and a crash, and noise, so much noise. 

Archie exits the bathroom, and immediately wishes that he hadn’t. 

There is a man standing in the middle of Pops, holding a gun, black hood over his head, eyeholes crudely cut out. 

A gun that is pointing straight at Archie’s father. 

Archie moves without thinking, placing himself in front of the only person who’s stood by him from the beginning. 

He places himself in front of the gun and looks up. 

He can hear his father screaming in the distance. It all fades away. All he can see are those green eyes, the eyes he’d hated and loved and lost and found. 

But they weren’t her eyes, they weren’t Betty’s eyes. 

These were the eyes of the man who was a murderer, who had made his daughter a murderer. 

Archie straightens his spine. He cannot move, but he does not want to. 

There is silence, and those eyes, staring into his, deciding what to do with the gun. Deciding how much Archie is worth. Deciding whether to shoot or to run. 

Archie tilts his head up. _I dare you_ , he seems to be saying. _I dare you to do it, with me knowing all that I know_. 

The man takes the bet. 

There is a loud noise. A shot. 

Archie can feel everything. He can see Betty, smiling at him, even though he knows she’s not really there. He can see his dad, grinning over at him, proud as can be. He can see Jughead, and Veronica too, smiling, laughing. 

He can feel love and fear and all that lies in between. 

He can feel everything. 

And then -

And then he feels nothing at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, all the love goes to cara.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @[thephantomsandjulie](https://thephantomsandjulie.tumblr.com) and on twitter @[ahobbitinahole](https://twitter.com/ahobbitinahole). feel free to come and talk to me anytime!
> 
> the title and all chapter titles are drawn from Zara Larsson’s ‘ruin my life’.


	6. baby come bring me hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! it sure has been awhile...but i hope you enjoy chapter six!!
> 
> for those of you wondering: i will not be abandoning this, and i WILL be seeing it through to the very end - all seventeen chapters!!
> 
> special thanks to the editor, for always going the extra mile, and to everyone who's still reading this story!!
> 
> all the love!!

There is a dull thumping sound in the back of Archie’s skull. Repetitive. Cold. Hard. Almost like a beep. 

He can’t figure out how to make it stop. 

He doesn’t know where he is. All he can see is darkness, or maybe just the colour black. All he can see is nothing, stretching out for miles and miles and miles. 

He shuts his eyes tight. And opens them again. 

Still nothing. 

Archie tries to stand, tries to move, but he can’t. His limbs are like concrete. His arms feel like they have been tied down. 

He moves his head from side to side. 

Nothing. 

Just darkness, and silence.

Except for the thumping. 

Archie can hear it more clearly now. It’s not a beep, not really. It’s more of a consistent thud, like the pound of rain on the roof.

But that’s not what it is. Archie knows, somehow, that it’s not raining, not in the slightest. He’s safe, he thinks, but not quite as safe as he might have been a few hours ago. 

His ribs hurt, although he can’t move his hand to apply pressure to the pain. He hurts all over, really, and he still can’t move at all. He just keeps breathing in and out, matching it with the beating of his heart. 

That’s what the thudding is, he realises. It’s the sound of his heart, steady, a simple rhythm, neither slowing or stopping. 

But there’s also a beeping sound, and there’s a low murmur of voices. Archie can’t make it out, but they are hushed, gentle whispers, echoing in a small room. 

He tries to open his eyes again, and this time he succeeds, but barely. He can only see a sliver of the room. He’s lying down in a hospital bed, and he thinks he can make out his dad talking to a doctor on the other side of the room. He tries to cry out, to let them know that he’s awake, that he’s here, that he’s still breathing. 

But he can’t. He can’t move and he can’t talk, and keeping his eyes open is just too much effort. 

They fall closed again. 

The thudding begins anew, once more like the pound of rain on a roof. It’s calming, listening to his own heartbeat, and Archie gradually lets it lull him into sleep. 

And he dreams.

* * *

In the dream, the boy can move freely, and he does, running across the green fields of places that he has never been. He stretches out his legs and smiles, turning his face to the sun, and once again he is ten years old, without a single care in the world. 

The day is warm, and the sky is blue. There is not a cloud in the sky, but there is a gentle breeze in the air. The boy laughs when it tickles his face, soft and light, like a feather. 

He doesn’t know where he is, but he doesn’t care. This is a beautiful place, and he can’t remember why he would ever go anywhere else. 

There is a low ache in his ribs, but the boy ignores it. Out here, material things like pain don’t matter. Out here, he can do whatever he pleases and there will be no consequences. Out here -

There is a sharp noise, like a twig being cracked underfoot. 

The boy freezes, a chill running through his veins, although he does not know why. 

He looks around slowly, making no sudden movements. There is no one here but him. Just him. _Only_ him. 

So why does he feel as though someone is watching him?

He spins around, making sure that his feet don’t crunch the leaves. He feels like the prey of some predator, who is watching from the woods, although the boy could’ve sworn that he was standing in an open field only a moment ago. 

In the dream, the boy stands alone for a very long time, not daring to move and barely daring to breathe. He has never been this scared before. He has never felt fear turn his blood cold. He has been fearful before, of course, but not like this. Not with the fear paralysing him, strangling him by the neck, forcing him to choke. 

The sun is setting in the sky when the boy finally moves his legs, willing them to turn back to flesh and bone. He rubs his hands together. When did it get so cold? 

The green field is gone completely, and the boy is still standing in a wood. In the light of day it had been welcoming, friendly, even. 

Now it looks like the kind of place that would house exactly the kind of thing the boy is hoping to avoid. The trees are tall and black. The leaves are dark green and pointed. But still, the boy steps forward, eager to leave the small clearing that still smells like his desperate fear. 

The ache in his ribs is slowly easing, although now other parts of his body hurt. He has a pounding headache, although he could not have said what had brought it on or even when he had started having it. Still, he walks on, treading gently through the undergrowth, anxious to not cause himself more pain. 

In the dream the boy walks for what feels like hours upon hours. He treks without stopping, and the breaks he does take are to gather his surroundings and to walk in what he believes to be the right direction.

In the dream, the boy has reached what he thinks is the very edge of the woods when the sun breaks over the horizon, quite literally a beacon of light in the darkness. The boy sits on the ground with a sigh, resting his head on a nearby oak. He feels exhausted, both physically and mentally. His ribs are still sore, less so than they had been, but there is still enough pain that he is acutely aware of it. 

And suddenly, the dream is no longer a dream. The pain is real, the boy knows that now. He remembers the loud bang of a gun going off, and he remembers the screaming and yelling of the people who had been with him when it had happened. 

And he remembers the green eyes of the man who had shot him, the eyes of a man who had managed to fool everyone into thinking that he was harmless.

Archie breathes in a little deeper, and feels the headache recede, just slightly. His limbs feel like his own again, but the world around is quiet, with only the steady beat of his heart to keep him company, and the gentle beep of whatever machine he is no doubt hooked up to. 

Archie says goodbye to the green fields and his little clearing and the dark woods. He says goodbye to his dream, to the sun shining golden down on the world. 

He says goodbye, although somehow he knows that one day he will be back, to this little world that exists only in his head. 

And he opens his eyes.

* * *

They’ve been waiting in the hospital for what feels like forever. Archie’s father had called Jughead, and Jughead had been with Betty and Betty had called Veronica. 

Veronica had come as soon as she had heard. She almost couldn’t believe it. It didn’t feel real. And even though a boy had been found in the river with a bullet through his head, Veronica really hadn't thought that this was the kind of thing that generally happened in Riverdale. 

But now she’s not so sure. Her mother had always had good things to say about the town she’d grown up in, about the people and the places and the way that everyone would come together for something that really mattered. 

Veronica had only snorted. To her, back then, safe in her penthouse in New York City, she’d thought that Riverdale had sounded exactly like every other small town in the country. A run of the mill place where everyone knew everyone and everyone was _happy_ to know everyone. A town that had no secrets, no tragedies. 

But she’d been wrong, and her mother had been wrong, and _everyone_ had been wrong. Because apparently Riverdale did indeed have secrets, and tragedies, and everything bad in between. 

Veronica shakes her head to clear her thoughts, returning to the present, to her friends - well her friend and her _kind of_ friend. She wasn’t exactly sure what she thought of Jughead, and she wasn’t exactly sure what he thought of her. 

Jughead’s pacing back and forth down the hallway, a frown seemingly permanently etched onto his brow. He’s been pacing for hours, refusing to take a break, even as Veronica had brought a couple of sandwiches and bad coffee from the hospital’s cafeteria. 

He’s been alternating between thinking out loud and muttering under his breath. Sometimes he’ll ask Betty questions, and sometimes Betty will answer, her voice small and strained, and sometimes it’ll seem like she hasn’t even heard him, lost in her own little world. 

Veronica, suffice to say, is extremely confused. From what she can gather from Jughead’s ramblings, he thinks that Archie being shot has something to with Jason Blossom’s murder. Veronica doesn’t understand that. She doesn’t know if it’s because she’s new to town or because she doesn’t have all the details. Either way, the only thing she’s come up with that might connect Archie and Jason is that they both have red hair, and somehow she doesn’t think that Jughead will appreciate her theory in the slightest. 

Beside her, Betty jerks awake, having fallen asleep with her head on Veronica’s shoulder. ‘Did I miss anything?’ she asks, rubbing her eyes with balled up fists. ‘Did anything happen? Is there anything new about Archie?’

Veronica shakes her head. ‘No. Fred’s been coming and going, but there hasn’t been a progress report yet. Nothing’s happened - only I do think that Jughead’s getting crazier by the minute.’

Jughead shoots her a glare, but continues pacing. He’s muttering to himself as he reads over whatever’s written in the little notepad he’s holding in his hand. 

‘Do _you_ have anything?’ Betty asks, and Jughead looks up with a frown. 

‘I have everything,’ he says gloomily. ‘But what I don’t understand is the why, and also how we can possibly prove it.’

Betty frowns. ‘We already have the why. We just need the evidence.’

Jughead shakes his head. ‘The why doesn’t make sense. At least, not yet. I think we only have part of the reason. And we need all of it. You know that.’

Veronica nearly groans out loud. How far out of the loop can she possibly be?

‘What the hell is going on?’ she asks, standing up and putting her hands on her hips, trying to look as imposing as is humanly possible. ‘You’ve been talking in riddles since we got here, and Veronica Lodge is tired of not understanding anything you’re saying!’

Jughead turns to Betty with raised eyebrows. ‘Does she always talk in the third person?’

Betty laughs. ‘Yep!’

Veronica rolls her eyes and ups her glare, squinting at them. ‘You guys better start talking, or I might have to recommend you both to the psych ward.’

Jughead and Betty exchange glances and Betty gives a single decisive nod. Jughead clears his throat. 

‘We know who killed Jason Blossom,’ he begins, and Veronica gasps. ‘And we know who shot Archie.’

‘What?’ Veronica asks, slightly shocked. ‘How can you possibly know who shot Archie? It only happened a couple of hours ago! And you weren’t even there!’

‘We _know_ ,’ Jughead says, ‘because the person who shot Archie is the same person who killed Jason.’

‘I,’ Veronica starts, and then stops, taking a deep breath. ‘I don’t even know what to say to that.’

‘There’s more,’ Betty says abruptly. ‘The killer shot Archie because he knew too much. We can’t know for sure what they’re going to do next.’

Jughead turns to Betty with a frown. ‘That means you can’t go home, no matter what, okay?’

Betty nods, although she doesn’t look too happy about it.

‘Wait,’ Veronica says. ‘Why can’t you go home? In fact, shouldn’t we _all_ go home? We’ve been here for hours, and Archie will still be here tomorrow.’

Jughead and Betty turn to her with incredulous looks on their faces. ‘Of course we can’t go home!’ Jughead exclaims. ‘Archie could wake up any second! We can’t miss that!’

Veronica sinks back down in her seat, properly chastised. She’s not used to having friends, or kind of friends, or anybody she can count on at all. And yet Archie has all of that and more, people who are willing to wait forever just to see him open his eyes. People who are willing to just _wait_. To just wait and wait and wait, even if they’ll get nothing out of it. 

Veronica wishes, not for the first time, that she could’ve had something like that _before_ she’d moved to Riverdale.

‘Right,’ she says, a little tightly. ‘I guess we’re all staying put then. You can tell me all about this mysterious killer of yours -’

And then Fred appears at the end of the corridor, rubbing his hand across his face. 

_Archie_.

Veronica’s heart does a funny little twist in her chest. She doesn’t know Archie, not really. They have classes together and they’ve had conversations and one time he’d held the door for her. But he’s not her friend. He’s Jughead’s friend. He’s Betty’s friend. 

She doesn’t know why she’s here. All she can do is offer empty comforts and pat Betty’s hand reassuringly. 

Fred gives them a wan smile, accepting Betty’s hug and clasping Jughead firmly on the shoulder. 

‘He’s in the home stretches,’ he murmurs, scrubbing at his brow. ‘He’s going to be just fine.’

Betty gives out another gasping cry, leaning into Jughead’s shoulder. Jughead looks like he’s about to cry himself. 

Veronica feels strangely alone. 

She wonders if anyone would do this for her. Would anyone stand vigil beside her bedside, crying and worrying and wondering if they’d ever see her face again. Would anyone, besides her family, miss her, love her, even if she was gone?

When her mother had told her they were moving to Riverdale, Veronica had thrown many a tantrum. She’d refused to go, she’d refused to pack. Then, when all of her usual charms hadn’t worked, she’d begged instead. Gotten down on her knees and asked if there was literally anywhere else they could move to. 

And then Hermione Lodge, who never cried, who never broke down, who was cold and withdrawn, had taken her daughter’s hands in hers, and with tears in her eyes, had finally told Veronica the truth. 

Suffice to say, Veronica had not taken it well. She’d known that her father was not necessarily a saint among men, but she’d always thought that he was a good man. 

She hadn’t thought that he was a criminal. 

That night, while her mother was sleeping, Veronica had finally packed up all of her belongings. She stuffed her life in New York into suitcases and boxes and she’d not to look back. 

The only thing she’d left behind was her favourite string of pearls, the ones that her father had given her when she’d turned ten. She’d worn them every single day of her life since then. She’d rarely taken them off. They were her solace, her safe place. 

But there was nothing safe about evil. 

Veronica doesn’t know if she truly thinks of her father as evil. Now, he’s just a long reaching shadow, touching her, barely, giving her the shivers and the need to glance over her shoulder. 

Hiram Lodge is now a fairytale meant for children. He’s the monster under the bed, hiding in the closet, the big bad wolf chasing a little girl in a red cape through dark and sinister woods. 

Veronica’s heard the stories. She knows the drill. Her father isn’t her father anymore. He’s not the man who used to read her as many bedtime stories as she wanted when she was little. He’s not the man who used to take her hands and count the lines etched into them so he could tell her the future. 

That man is gone, and only the villain of the story remains.

Veronica hates it.

She hates that she’s sitting in a hospital waiting room, watching the only real friends she’s ever made break down while she is helpless to do anything but watch. She hates that instead of being in New York, in her very own penthouse room, she’s stuck in Riverdale, when everyone knows everyone and your business simply cannot be your own. 

She hates that she prefers this life to any other. 

She hates that she wants to be here, in this hospital waiting room, just because her presence might bring the people around her even the slightest bit of comfort. She hates that she’s become so empathetic. She hates that she can see the girl she used to be disappearing in a flash. 

She hates that she desperately wants that. 

But most of all she’s glad that her father turned out to be a criminal instead of a good man. She’s glad that he ruined their lives and that instead of a penthouse she lives in the Pembrooke. She’s glad that she has real friends now, not just those who wanted to be close to her because of her name and her money. 

But most of all, she’s glad that she left those pearls behind. 

‘I’m going to get coffee,’ she murmurs, gently releasing Betty’s hand. ‘You want anything?’

Betty shakes her head. ‘I’m good. And besides, I’m pretty sure that Archie’s going to wake up any minute now.’

Veronica refrains from answering. It’s been at least six hours now. She’s worried, even if no one else is. 

Jughead looks up from his place on the floor. ‘You guys hear something?’

Veronica’s about to open her mouth and say no when Fred appears from around the corner. ‘Archie’s awake!’ he cries, and Jughead and Betty are immediately on their feet. Veronica follows more slowly, wondering if Betty and Archie share a psychic connection, or something along those lines. 

They enter Archie’s room single file: Betty, then Jughead, and finally Veronica. 

Jughead and Betty throw themselves on Archie’s bed, wrapping their arms around them. Veronica hangs back, unsure of her place in all of this. 

But Archie’s okay, and for that small fact alone, Veronica smiles. 

She doesn’t miss those pearls at all.

* * *

Archie’s awake, and suddenly the world is right again. Betty can’t help but smile as she watches her once mortal enemy sitting up straight in bed, a little wan, a little pale, but smiling, and _alive_.

‘Dude,’ says Jughead. ‘You got _shot!’_

Fred snorts, ‘I’ll give you kids some privacy. I need something to eat anyway.’

‘See you, dad.’ Archie says, and turns to Jughead with a grin. ‘I got shot, yes.’

‘Did it hurt?’ Jughead asks, pulling out his notepad and his pen, looking ready to capture every detail that Archie might want to spill about the experience. ‘Where exactly _did_ it hurt? Can you describe the pain in detail?’

Archie leans backwards a little. ‘Well it definitely hurt, mainly in my ribs. I guess you could say that it felt very cold and very hot all at the same time. It was kind of like ice was running through my veins instead of blood one minute, and then the next the ice had turned to fire.’

Jughead frowns. ‘I was hoping for something a little more medically accurate.’

‘I thought it was very poetic,’ Veronica chimes in, looking slightly awkward, standing at the edge of the group. ‘I liked the imagery.’

‘At least someone appreciates the beauty of my pain,’ Archie laughs, playfully scowling at Jughead. ‘I’m surprised you’re here, actually, Jug.’

It’s Jughead’s turn to look awkward, and that he does. ‘Where else would I be?’ he asks uncomfortably. ‘It’s not like you wouldn’t stand vigil by my bedside if _I’d_ been shot.’

‘True,’ says Archie, looking a little pensive. Something’s troubling him, Betty realises, other than the whole business of being shot. Something’s bothering him, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. ‘But if you’d been shot, you’d still be describing what the pain had felt like.’

Veronica laughs. ‘Even I know that’s true,’ she says, sitting down at the edge of the bed. ‘You do tend to ramble.’

Jughead scowls. ‘I do not! I’m very precise. Very succinct.’

‘I just sat in the hallway and listened to you talk for six hours about nothing in particular as you scribbled in that little journal thingy of yours. I may not know _you_ very well, but I do know that.’

Jughead pouts, suitably chastised. 

‘And that reminds me,’ Veronica says, lowering her voice into a stage whisper. ‘These two truly believe that they know who shot you. That this person is one and the same with the person who shot Jason Blossom.’

An unsteady silence fills the small room, and Betty is suddenly intensely glad that Fred had left them to their own devices. 

Jughead stops scribbling in his notepad, looking up to catch Betty’s eye. Archie has gone pale, and Betty is sure that she sees him glance at her, briefly, before staring down at his plain bedspread. 

Veronica is unaware of the bombshell that she has accidentally dropped. In fact, she seems almost amused by Betty and Jughead’s amateur sleuthing. 

Betty feels slightly sick. She knows who the murderer is. Jughead knows who the murderer is. And she’s sure that Archie knows who the murderer is. Surely, out of all three of them they can come up with a way to prove their theory. Surely, if Veronica had given Jughead the push he needed to figure things out then she could help again. 

‘Hmm,’ says Jughead. ‘I think you may need to learn how to read a room, Veronica.’

Veronica shrugs, barely sparing him a glance. ‘I was just sharing your wild theories. As a joke. To lighten up the mood. Although the mood isn’t the only thing that needs lightening up.’

Archie clenches his fists in the sheets. His knuckles are bone white, and Betty is sure that he’s digging his nails deep into the soft skin of the palms of his hands. 

‘It’s not a joke,’ he snaps. ‘We know who the killer is.’

Veronica frowns. ‘You mean I’m the only person who doesn’t know who the murderer is?’

She turns to Betty, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘I thought we were friends!’

Betty is a little taken back. ‘Are you angry with me because I didn’t tell you who the killer is?’ she asks, although surely that cannot be the only reason for Veronica’s sudden mood change. ‘Or are you angry with me about something else?’

‘Both!’ exclaims Veronica. ‘And you were about to tell me in the hallway anyway, so out with it!’

Betty clears her throat, ready for the revelation of a lifetime, but before she can get there, Jughead interrupts. 

‘Or I could take Veronica to Thornhill to fill Cheryl in and you and Archie could talk?’

‘Wait,’ Veronica says, uncrossing her arms to place her hands on her hips. ‘ _Cheryl_ knows? You don’t even like Cheryl!’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Archie says quickly, but he doesn’t look at Betty. He stares past her, at Jughead, and Jughead, with the sure knowledge of years of friendship, nods. He pulls Veronica out the door, still complaining about her place in the friendship hierarchy, and soon, Betty and Archie are alone.

‘Are you sure you’re feeling alright?’ Betty asks, resisting the urge to fluff his pillows or make him a cup of tea. She’s never been quite so nervous, quite so scared, although of what, she doesn’t quite know. She doesn’t know how Archie is going to react to all of this - to the knowledge that she had caused this, that he had tried to be her friend and it had ended up with him getting shot. 

‘I’m okay,’ Archie says, offering her a gentle smile. ‘Considering the circumstances.’

‘Yeah,’ Betty says, breathing out the words in a whisper. ‘Considering the circumstances.’

They’re both silent for a moment, staring into space. Betty contemplates what to say next. She doesn’t know what to do, not really. And glancing at Archie, she’s pretty sure that he’s got no idea either. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers finally, turning away from him. ‘I’m sorry for everything.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ he replies, and Betty can see that he means it. He really doesn’t think that it’s her fault, even though he’s lying in a hospital bed because he’d tried to help her. 

She doesn’t say anything.

‘You don’t believe me,’ Archie says. It’s not a question.

‘It’s not that I don’t believe you,’ Betty says, ‘it’s that all evidence points to the contrary.’

‘You didn’t do anything,’ Archie whispers, taking her hand. ‘I saw something I wasn’t meant to see, and I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now here I am. There was nothing you could have done to stop it.’

Betty shakes her head. There are tears forming in the backs of her eyes but she pushes them down. She can’t afford to cry, and she’s never been able to. ‘He wouldn’t have come after you if we weren’t friends,’ she says, and her voice is a quiver. ‘He wouldn’t have shot you if we hadn’t made up.’

‘Actually,’ Archie says, ‘that’s where you’re wrong. After you left yesterday I saw your dad.’

Betty jerks her head to look at him properly. She can’t quite comprehend what he’s saying. ‘What?’ she asks, trying to hide her shock.

‘He was in the garden,’ Archie says, leaning forward. ‘He was digging something up. I didn’t get a close look at it, but it was definitely a Letterman jacket, and I’m dead certain that it was Jason’s.’

Betty frowns. ‘And that’s why he shot you? Because you saw him dig up a jacket?’

Archie shrugs. ‘It makes more sense than anything else. Maybe he didn’t want anybody but you and him to know. Maybe he thought that I would run my mouth and tell everyone I know. Maybe he just felt like shooting someone he didn’t particularly care about. It doesn’t matter. He still shot me, and he still has the jacket, and either way it isn’t your fault.’

Privately, Betty disagrees. But she nods instead, clutching Archie’s hand in hers. ‘I still can’t believe it,’ she says, but deep down, she’s not all that surprised. Hal had never been a violent man, but he had been a bitter one, and Betty knows better than anyone that bitter people are the most dangerous. 

‘Neither can I,’ Archie says. ‘I mean what Jason did was cheat on Polly. It’s a horrible, terrible thing to do, but surely it doesn’t warrant _murder_.’

‘I know,’ says Betty. ‘Jughead thinks that there might be more to the story. He thinks that Hal had another reason for doing what he did.’

‘I think Jughead’s right,’ says Archie, squeezing her hand. ‘He often is, but you really shouldn’t tell him. He’ll get a big head, and his ego doesn’t exactly need stroking.’

Betty laughs, and all is once again right with the world. 

She’s sitting in the sun, holding onto the boy next door’s hand, smiling and happy. She wouldn’t have thought that this was her life if you’d asked her a week ago. 

But she’s glad that it is. 

And she doesn’t want this brief period of happiness to end. She wants to bask in it forever, let it wash over her and cleanse her of her sins. 

But deep down she knows what is coming next will be the darkest thing she has ever faced.

So Betty lets the sun warm her face, and focuses on making Archie laugh. 

It’s enough.

For now.

* * *

Jughead walks to Thornhill in silence, content to be alone with his thoughts, churning theories through his mind, trying to weave everything together and discover the mystery inside the mystery. He’s always been a bit of a loner, almost cliche in how much he subscribes to stereotypes. He likes solitude. He’s comfortable being alone. 

It becomes clear around five minutes into the walk that Veronica does not share this outlook. 

She can _not_ stop talking. 

She asks question after question, poking and prodding at any and all details of Jughead’s life, Betty life, Archie’s life, everything and everyone in Riverdale. Jughead gives short, to the point answers, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave him to his thoughts. 

She doesn’t. 

‘So,’ Veronica says, hopelessly chatty. ‘You still haven’t told me who you think the murderer is. You know, the person who _also_ shot Archie? I’m getting curious over here. And I’m still not sure that I believe you. I mean, I know this is a small town, but I’m sure that you have more than one crazy person who owns a gun.’

‘I’m sure we do,’ Jughead gripes, ‘but that doesn’t change the fact that the murderer and the person who shot Archie are one and same.’

‘And the murderer is…?’ Veronica prompts, looking at him eagerly. ‘I really am on the edge of my metaphorical seat here.’

‘It’s Betty’s father,’ Jughead says, and feels a weight being lifted off his chest as he does. It’s freeing to say the words out loud, powerful and true. ‘Hal Cooper. He’s the person who killed Jason Blossom, and he’s also the one who shot Archie in Pops.’

And finally, the silence that Jughead so desperately craves comes. 

But it doesn’t last long. ‘Betty’s _father?’_ Veronica asks incredulously. ‘You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.’

Jughead snorts and shakes his head. ‘Why would I be kidding? This is literally life and death that we’re discussing.’

‘Yeah,’ says Veronica, ‘that may be true, but why the hell would Betty’s _father_ want to kill Jason Blossom? Why would he go out of his way to _shoot_ Archie?’

‘All will be revealed in time,’ Jughead murmurs, holding his cards close to his chest. ‘Soon everything will make sense.’

‘God,’ Veronica groans. ‘You’re so _dramatic_. And annoying! Can’t you just get it over with? At least tell me _why_ you think Betty’s dad killed Jason Blossom and shot Archie point blank in the chest!’

Jughead rolls his eyes. ‘Hal killed Jason because Jason cheated on Polly, Betty’s older sister. At least, we _think_ that’s why he did it. Although I’m pretty sure there’s more to the story - there has to be.’

‘Okay,’ Veronica muses, somehow still keeping pace with him in her stiletto heels. ‘That might make a sliver of sense. But that doesn’t explain why he would put on a mask and hold everyone in Pops at gunpoint! You make it sound as though he was after Archie specifically. If he was, how did he know that Archie was in Pops anyway?’

Jughead shrugs. ‘I don’t know. It may come as a surprise, but I don’t know _everything_. I just try to piece the things that I _do_ know together and hope that the bigger picture makes sense.’

‘So Hal has no motive to shoot Archie?’ Veronica asks, and she really does sound interested. ‘I may not be an expert, but I’m pretty sure you can’t get anywhere without motive. Or, you know, _evidence_.’

‘On the contrary,’ says Jughead, making his way up the gravel driveway of Thornhill in Veronica’s wake, ‘I think that Hal shooting Archie has something to do with why Betty and Archie stopped being friends all of those years ago. Or maybe Archie knew something he shouldn’t have. Or maybe he saw something he shouldn’t have. Either way, the motive’s _there_ , we just have to clear away everything obscuring it.’

‘Well your logic is sound,’ Veronica mutters. ‘But only you and Betty seem to believe this insane theory of yours, so I don’t know how much weight it holds.’

‘Oh,’ says Jughead, giving Thornhill’s door four sharp knocks. ‘Archie’s on board as well, and so is…’

The door swings open, and Cheryl Blossom stands regally in the opening, dressed head to toe in black. ‘Ugh,’ she says, looking them over with thinly veiled contempt. ‘Hobo. And…’

Veronica turns to Jughead sharply. ‘ _Cheryl_ believes in your insanity?’

Jughead bobs his head yes. ‘Indeed she does. That’s why we’re here. We need more facts about Jason’s death and how we can connect it to Archie being shot.’

Cheryl jerks out of her pondering. ‘Archie’s been shot?’ she asks, alarmed. ‘I’ll think of an insulting nickname for you later then,’ she says, this time directed at Veronica. ‘Come in.’

Thornhill is just as cold and as dark as Jughead remembers. The hallways are lined with portraits, and while Jughead isn’t necessarily superstitious, he’s sure that the eyes of the painted people are following him as he walks. 

It sends a shiver down his spine. 

Cheryl leads them into the sitting room, where she, Jughead and Betty had set up shop just yesterday. She sits down with a flourish. ‘How much does our dearest Veronica know?’ she asks, fixing Veronica with an impenetrable stare. ‘Or do I have to do all of the work and catch her up?’

‘Well I know barely anything,’ Veronica states, glaring in Jughead’s general direction. ‘They’ve refused to let me into the loop. All I know is that Betty’s dad is allegedly the murderer and the person who shot Archie, and that you, Betty, Jughead _and_ Archie all believe this.’

‘All of that is true,’ Cheryl says, nodding. ‘Hal killed my brother, although his reasoning for doing so at this particular moment in time is more than a little foggy.’

‘I’m working on it,’ Jughead snaps. ‘It’s not all that easy to investigate a murder when you’re afraid of getting shot.’

Cheryl snorts. ‘You’re only saying that because you have nothing to go on. You’ve hit a dead end and you don’t want to admit it.’

‘That’s all well and good,’ Veronica interrupts, ‘but I still don’t know more than what I just told you.’

‘Really?’ asks Cheryl, raising her eyebrows. ‘Well, this is going to be fun now, isn’t it?’

Jughead lowers himself into a nearby armchair, frowning as Cheryl flips her hair back and leans towards Veronica, dropping her voice into a stage whisper.

‘It goes like this: two years ago, Jason started dating Polly. They were pretty much the closet this town will ever get to having an It Couple, and as such they were big news. Jason was the quarterback, and Polly was a cheerleader, and it genuinely seemed as though they were a match made in heaven. 

‘And then, one year ago, everything changed.’

‘What happened a year ago?’ Veronica asks, on the edge of her seat despite herself. 

‘Please don’t interrupt me,’ Cheryl says primly. ‘Now where was I?’

‘Everything changed when someone new rolled into town, and much like Riverdale, they were hiding behind a facade of innocence and purity. This person was the new music teacher, Geraldine Grundy, who got closer than was appropriate with her students.’

‘Wait,’ Veronica says, ‘didn’t Ms Grundy get fired for having an affair with a student? Did she and Jason have an _affair?’_

‘They did indeed,’ mutters Jughead, ‘although that wasn’t the affair that she was fired for.’

‘Hello?’ Cheryl snaps. ‘This is _my_ story! Please be quiet!’

Obediently, Jughead and Veronica look on as she continues. 

‘Jason and Ms Grundy _were_ having an affair, although no one would find out until nine months later, when Polly discovered them and consequently wrote about it in her diary. Betty would later discover this diary and what Polly had written, which would lead her to discover the truth about Jason’s clandestine relationship with Ms Grundy.

‘And this would lead to her connecting the dots about someone else, whom she had long harboured a grudge for.’

‘Ms Grundy had an affair with _Archie?’_ Veronica exclaims suddenly. ‘Oh god, everything’s making sense.’

Cheryl grinds her teeth together in annoyance. Veronica quiets down immediately. ‘Please continue,’ she murmurs. 

‘Ms Grundy and Archie had an affair, Betty wrote about it in her diary, her mother found out and had Ms Grundy fired.’

‘My guess is that Alice knew that Jason was cheating on Polly, but she just didn’t know who. She’d probably read Polly’s diary, just like Betty did, but she couldn’t connect the dots until Betty did it for her,’ Jughead adds, waving a hand for Cheryl to continue.

‘Anyway,’ Cheryl says, ‘we think that Hal killed my brother because of what he did to Polly. And we think he shot Archie because of whatever weird things happened between Archie and Betty in the past.’

‘But you don’t have any physical evidence,’ Veronica notes, looking at them in confusion. ‘How can you be sure of anything if you don’t have physical evidence? At this point everything is completely circumstantial!’

‘I’m aware of that,’ Jughead gripes, feeling a headache coming on. ‘I’m pretty sure that Archie mentioned something about Hal burying, or rather, _unburying_ Jason’s Letterman jacket in the back garden. If we can connect that to him, then we’re golden. But other than that Cheryl’s right. I _have_ hit a dead end. I have no idea where to go from here. I don’t even know if there’s anything left to uncover.’

‘There’s always more to uncover,’ Veronica promises. ‘You just need a new set of eyes every now and then.’ 

She looks around the room in anticipation. ‘So where’s your murder board?’

Cheryl snorts. ‘Our _what?’_

‘Your murder board,’ Veronica says, as though it should be obvious. ‘The board where you plot out everything about a case. Who’s involved, what’s involved, connections, evidence, etcetera.’

‘ _Oh_ ,’ Jughead sighs. ‘We don’t have one of those yet. We just have loose case files and things like that. And lots of string.’

‘We did have one,’ Cheryl adds, ‘although I had to take it down in case my mother found out and grounded me for life for looking into Jason’s death.’

‘Okay then,’ Veronica says, rubbing her hands together. ‘Shall we get to work?’

‘You’re going to help?’ Jughead asks incredulously.

‘Of course!’ Veronica nods. ‘I’ve got nothing else to do, and in case you’ve forgotten, I live here too now. It’s as much my responsibility to protect this hellhole of a town as it is yours.’

Cheryl smirks. ‘You know, I don’t think you need a nickname, Veronica. I like you.’

‘Uh, thank you?’ Veronica says, although it sounds more like a question than a statement. ‘Can I see your travelling murder board now, please?’

‘With pleasure!’ Cheryl proclaims, and reaches into the couch cushion behind, pulling out several folders and plastic sleeves.

‘Seriously?’ Jughead deadpans. ‘ _That’s_ where you hid everything?’

‘Of course!’ Cheryl says. ‘No one ever sits on this couch except for me. It’s foolproof.’

‘Okay then,’ Jughead says and pulls a folder towards him and starts going through it.

There’s a lot in there, and Jughead suspects that Cheryl might have been doing some solo work. She’s got everything on Jason, his comings and goings, everything that he was doing, although she doesn’t have any motive for his actions. Jughead is beginning to realise that he could know everything that happened on the day of Jason’s murder without knowing _why_ it had happened.

The girls begin to murmur in low voices on the other side of the room and Jughead pulls another folder towards him. This one is interesting - it contains details of his family, and Betty's family, and Archie’s family. 

There’s something strange about the way the pictures are arranged. Archie’s pile is on the bottom, then Betty’s, and Jughead’s on top. 

His mother’s picture is on top of the pile, her face smiling up at him, all teeth. Jughead tosses it away, trying not to glance at it too long. But like the portrait's eyes in the hallway, he can feel his mother’s eyes on him, even in photographic form. 

His father’s picture is next, but as Jughead goes to pick it up, he realises that it is connected by string to another picture, this one of Betty’s mother.

Jughead frowns. He’s pretty sure that FP and Alice have never met, and he’s also pretty sure that they don’t have anything to do with Jason’s murder, unless Alice was in it with her husband. 

But Betty had organised this folder, and Jughead knows her well enough now to know that she doesn't do things without mistake. 

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Why would his father be connected to Betty’s mother? What did they have in common, besides their children?

 _FP and Alice_ , he muses. _What’s the connection?_

And then he remembers Toni’s words from the other day, as she’d been telling Betty about the history of the Serpents. 

_He turned the gang around - him and his girlfriend, Alice_.

His girlfriend.

Who’d gotten pregnant and gotten out of Riverdale for good.

Except, maybe not.

His _girlfriend_.

Alice.

* * *

The house is eerily quiet when Betty walks through the front door. The air is cold and sharp. Something feels off, somehow, although she can’t put her finger on what. 

She walks through the house slowly, carefully, as though she’s expecting something to jump out at her any moment. But nothing does, and Betty tells herself that she’s being silly. There’s nothing to be afraid of. 

Only ghosts haunt this place, after all. Betty can feel them brushing by her in the corridor, raising the hairs on her arms. 

The house is too quiet. She can hear her heart beating in her chest at a mile a minute. She can hear herself taking in a breath too soon. She can hear her footsteps, even though she’s stepping onto carpet. 

And she can hear the slow, steady breathing of someone else. 

Betty knows then, that he’s here. The man who killed Jason Blossom. The man who shot Archie Andrews. 

The man who raised her within these walls. The man who raised her to be gentle and kind, who raised her to know when to share and when to stand up for herself. The man who had taught her to ride a bicycle, who’d bandaged up her scraped knee when she’d fallen off. 

The man who had told her to choose a rock. Who had told her to raise it over her head and bring it down, hard. The man who had smiled in the aftermath, when the rock had fallen from her shaking hand, the man who had watched as the blood had stained her hands.

The man who had made her into a murderer. 

Betty walks faster now, trying to slow the rapid beating of her heart. She didn’t think that Hal would hurt her, but she’d never thought that he would hurt Archie either. 

How the tables have turned. 

The door to the backyard is open, and Betty can hear the wind whistling in the trees. It’s a nice day, the kind that speaks of only good things. 

But today was not a good day. Today was the day that Betty knew, intrinsically, would be the day that changed her life forever, if it hadn’t already. 

Hal is sitting under the oak tree, beside Caramel’s grave. He looks content, peaceful almost. It’s hard to believe that this is the same man who shot two teenage boys in cold blood. It’s hard to believe that this is anyone other than the man who had raised Betty. 

Hal smiles as Betty approaches. There’s no warmth to it and it’s all teeth. It’s unsettling, but Betty tries not to show it. She comes to a stop in front of him, once again noting that the atmosphere of the garden is deeply disquieting. 

‘So,’ Hal begins. ‘You’ve remembered.’

It seems an odd way to start an inevitable conversation, but Betty nods all the same. ‘I remember,’ she says, and that’s when she knows that her father has chosen this spot in particular for this conversation. She’s confronting him, and he wants her to remember what she did, every cruel detail. 

Hal tips his head to the side. ‘You don’t seem alarmed.’

‘Why would I be?’ Betty asks, mimicking his movement. ‘You taught me better than that, or don’t you _remember?’_

Hal laughs. It’s cold laughter, it seems recycled and far too bright. Betty recoils instinctively. She can’t quite believe that the man standing in front of her was ever someone she loved dearly. She can’t quite believe that this man tucked her into bed at night and scared her nightmares away. 

‘Of course I remember,’ he says, lowering his voice so that the breeze almost drowns him out. ‘I remember _everything_.’

Betty takes a step back. ‘Why am I here?’ she asks. ‘Why are _we_ here?’

‘We’re here,’ Hal says, rising to his feet, tall and imposing, ‘because there are things that you don’t understand yet, Elizabeth. There are things that you are simply too naive to understand, and there are things that you are simply too _good_ to understand.’

‘Like what?’ Betty whispers, schooling her face into a blank slate. ‘Tell me. I can take it.’

‘No,’ Hal says. ‘No you can’t. You’re a smart girl, Elizabeth, but even the wisest of us cannot handle the truth sometimes. Your mother couldn’t handle some truths and so she locked them away, deep inside of herself. Your sister couldn’t handle some truths and she broke down instead. What do you think will happen to you if I tell you everything you could possibly want to know?’

Betty flashes back to those final days with Polly, when her sister had rushed home and locked herself in her room for hours. Betty now suspected that she had been pouring her feelings into her diary, or at the very least planning her revenge. 

But she also remembers the crying, low and soft, the tears that her parents hadn’t seen and the weeping only she had heard. She remembers how Polly had come out of her room later that night, saying that all was well. 

And then she’d had her breakdown, when the local news had shown a story about Jason Blossom and the water polo team, and Polly had taken her dinner plate and thrown it against the dining room wall, until the floor was covered in porcelain pieces, and the cracks Polly had desperately tried to hide had shown through. 

Polly couldn’t handle the truth. She’d tried to, and she’d failed. What made Betty stronger than her?

‘I have something for you,’ Hal says, pulling an envelope from his jacket. ‘Before I go, I want you to have this.’

Betty takes the envelope, but doesn’t open it. ‘Where are you going?’ she asks, curious despite herself. 

‘An apartment on the other side of town,’ Hal says. ‘Your mother’s kicking me out.’

Betty’s head jerks up. ‘She _knows?’_

Hall smiles again. ‘Knows about what?’

‘About -’

But Betty can’t bring herself to say the words out loud. 

_That you’re a murderer. That you shot a boy in cold blood_.

She turns around, fiddling with the envelope, wiping the tears from her eyes. When she turns back to face her father, Hal is gone.

But under the oak tree lies a Letterman jacket. 

Right where Archie said it would be.

* * *

Archie’s room is quiet now that his friends have gone. He almost prefers it. It gives him time to think about everything that has happened, about what he knows and what he doesn’t, and whether Sheriff Keller was going to come back to ask him more questions, just like he had earlier that day. 

Kevin had come to, and sat at the edge of Archie’s bed, looking him up and down with a frown. 

‘You look terrible,’ he declares. ‘I honestly thought that you would really come out of this entirely unscathed.’

‘Really?’ Archie chuckles. ‘I think you think too highly of me, Kev. I’m only human, after all.’ 

‘I know that,’ Kevin says, but he avoids Archie’s gaze. It strikes Archie that Kevin’s worried about him.

‘Hey,’ he says gently. ‘I’m fine, okay? The bullet missed everything major, and there wasn’t even that much blood!’

Kevin rolls his eyes. ‘God I’m a terrible friend! You’re comforting me while I’m the one who’s supposed to be comforting you!’

‘It’s fine,’ Archie laughs. ‘You’re cheering me up just by being here.’

Kevin winces. ‘That reminds me - and I completely understand if you’re not up to it - but my dad needs to talk to you about the shooting. He was getting worried because of Jason’s murder but this has thrown him over the edge, apparently.’

‘Of course I’ll talk to him,’ says Archie, but he’s already wondering what he’s going to say. 

_Hi Sheriff Keller, yes of course I know who shot me. It was Hal Cooper. Oh, and by the way, he also killed Jason Blossom_. 

Except there was no way he could say that, at least not out loud. For one thing, it sounded too far fetched, and for another, Betty had told him that she and Jughead had no evidence that wasn’t circumstantial or a first person recount. 

In short, they had nothing, so Archie couldn’t be spilling his guts to the police sheriff. 

‘Archie,’ says Sheriff Keller, walking through the door. ‘I’m glad to see you up and about, son.’

‘Thanks, Sheriff,’ Archie replies, and desperately tries to look as though he’s not hiding anything. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I just need you to answer a couple of questions,’ Sheriff Keller answers, pulling out a notepad and pen. ‘Just general stuff - what you saw, what you heard - those kinds of things.’

‘Okay,’ Archie nods.

‘Can you describe the shooter for me?’ Sheriff Keller asks.

Archie nods. ‘He was tall, pretty well built. I didn’t get a good look at his face though. He was wearing a black hood. All I could see were his eyes.’

‘Can you describe them for me? Every little detail helps.’

‘They were green,’ Archie says. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’

‘And did he speak at all? Give away anything that might lead to his identity?’

‘No,’ Archie says. ‘He seemed to know what he was doing. He was in and out of Pops in under a minute. And I don’t remember anything after he shot me.’

‘Okay,’ Sheriff Keller says, putting away his notepad and pen. ‘Thanks for your cooperation, Archie. I’ll talk to your dad if I have any follow up questions, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Archie agrees, nodding amicably. ‘Thanks for coming, Sheriff.’

The Sheriff tips his hat, and Archie holds back a sigh.

He’d been good, at least. He hadn’t given any indication that he knew more than he was letting on, and as far as Sheriff Keller was concerned, Archie had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

That was good. That was exactly what he needed - time. Time so that Betty and Jughead could crack the case wide open, so that they could get everything back to normal.

So that Riverdale would be safe again. 

Archie pumps his pillow up with his hands and rubs his eyes. He should try and get some sleep. No doubt tomorrow would bring more questions and no more answers. He should at least try to be ready for it. 

As he closes his eyes he thinks of that moment in Pops, right before the gun had gone off. He’d heard something, although he still couldn’t decipher what.

But it had sounded like a word. Just one word, although Archie had no idea what it might mean.

 _Tangerine_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, all the love goes to cara.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @[thephantomsandjulie](https://thephantomsandjulie.tumblr.com) and on twitter @[ahobbitinahole](https://twitter.com/ahobbitinahole). feel free to come and talk to me anytime!
> 
> the title and all chapter titles are drawn from Zara Larsson’s ‘ruin my life’.


	7. let it rain over me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha.mp3
> 
> it's been almost 4 months...pls don't hate me......
> 
> special thanks to the barchie babes, the telebarchies and the literal love of my life, [emma](https://barchiee.tumblr.com).
> 
> all the love goes to the editor (who is somehow still not sick of my procrastination???)
> 
> happy reading!! <3

It starts like this: 

An empty hallway. Pristine off white walls. The gentle drone of working machines. 

Fade in. 

Betty clutches the envelope in her hands. It feels too solid. Too real. 

And this can’t be real.

She can see her father’s handwriting etched on the paper. The red ink is dark against the white. It almost looks like blood. 

Under the fluorescent hospital lights it does. 

Beside her, Jughead’s knee is jiggling, up and down, up and down.

Betty wants to shout at him to stop, but her mouth won’t move to form the words. She’s been numb ever since she had sat down in the chair. She’s been numb far, far longer than that, really. She’s been numb her entire life. 

Her _father_ made her that way. 

It feels so strange to finally realise it. There’s a reason why she’s always been so disconnected. So apathetic. So angry. There’s a reason for everything, she realises. 

She just never thought that the reason would be _him_.

Family was meant to protect you. To _love_ you. They weren’t supposed to make you a monster. 

Because that’s what she is. Betty knows that now. 

A monster. 

It starts like this: 

Veronica fiddles with her pearls. Her face is pale and drawn. Betty doesn’t know her well enough to know what she’s thinking. 

But it’s what they’re all thinking. 

_What happens now?_

It starts like this:

The pounding of Betty’s heart in her ears. She can’t stop staring at the envelope. She won’t open it. But she won’t put it down, either. 

It means something. 

Everything her father does means something. 

She just doesn’t know what. 

It starts like this:

‘When do you think we’ll be able to see him?’

It’s Veronica who’s speaking. This past week it seems like she’s the only one with the words. 

‘I don’t know,’ Jughead answers.

Betty says nothing. She’s still staring at the envelope. 

‘What’s in that?’ Veronica asks. She’s curious. So is Jughead, Betty can tell. They don’t know what she knows. If they did, they’d know that some things are better off left unknown.

Maybe that’s why she hasn’t opened the envelope.

Maybe that’s why she’s afraid to let it out of her sight. 

‘I don’t know,’ she says, echoing Jughead’s earlier statement. ‘I haven’t opened it.’

Veronica scoffs. ‘Why not? What’s the point of having it if you don’t even know what’s in it?’

Betty shrugs. ‘Maybe that _is_ the point.’

‘God, you make no sense,’ Veronica snipes. 

Jughead shoots her a guarded look. It’s a look that says _be quiet, don’t wake the bear_. 

Betty hates him. 

Only now she can’t tell who _he_ is. 

Jughead?

Her father?

Archie?

They’re all warped in her brain. Jughead knows something about her, she knows he does. And whatever he thinks he knows, he thinks she doesn’t. And she can’t figure out what it could be. 

It’s not something about her father, that much Betty knows. Her father barely knows who Jughead is. He’s only interested in Betty and Archie. And as far as she knows it’s always been that way. 

It’s not about the envelope either, because even Betty doesn’t know what’s in it. Even Betty doesn’t know what her father wants.

Which means it has to be about Archie. 

Jughead knows something about Archie, and for some reason, he thinks it involves her as well. 

It makes no sense, not to Betty. 

But then again, not much makes sense to Betty these days. 

Maybe her brain has twisted her logic. Maybe Jughead doesn’t know anything about anything. Maybe he’s just trying to be a good friend. 

Or, maybe not. 

Ever since the body of Jason Blossom washed up on the shore of Sweetwater River, the town that Betty thought was the safest in the world has revealed itself to have a dark side. And everything she thought she knew about everything has been turned on its head. 

And now Betty knows nothing. 

She doesn’t even know who to trust. 

It starts like this:

‘Visiting hours start at 10,’ Jughead states, walking back to their little hallway, cup of lukewarm coffee in his hand. ‘We’re two hours early. Archie’s probably still asleep.’

Veronica frowns. ‘I got up before 7 to sit doing nothing for two hours?’

Jughead smirks. ‘No one said you had to get up before 7.’

Veronica flushes a pale pink. Betty feels her eyebrows knitting together. 

Jughead’s still smirking. ‘What did you even have to do that made you get up before 7? A hospital room isn’t exactly the best place for a hot first date.’

Veronica shoots daggers at Jughead. ‘Shut _up_!’

Jughead shrugs. ‘Are you denying the charges?’

Betty looks between the two of them, wondering what she's missing. She’s sure that Veronica and Archie have nothing going on, but Jughead always seems to know things before anyone else. 

‘Betty?’ Veronica asks, although it sounds more like a demand. ‘Aren’t you going to say something?’

Betty grins. ‘ _Are_ you denying the charges?’

Veronica groans. ‘I _always_ look this nice, you imbeciles.’

Jughead and Betty exchange a glance. His eyes say _as if_ , her eyes say _benefit of the doubt?_

‘Anyway,’ Veronica sniffs. ‘We should be focusing on other things. Like the murderer who’s on the loose.’

Betty flinches. Her reality seems more real when it’s coming out of someone else’s mouth. 

‘Sure,’ Jughead says, rolling his eyes. ‘But there’s nothing to focus on, because there’s nothing we can do. We have no proof. We barely even have a motive.’

‘There _has_ to be something we can do!’ Veronica argues, even though none of this would have affected her if she hadn’t happened to move to Riverdale. ‘We have to tell someone, at least. Mr Andrews seems like he’d believe us.’

Jughead shakes his head. ‘You don’t understand. You didn’t grow up here, you don’t know how much this town has changed since they found Jason’s body in the river.’

Veronica clicks her tongue impatiently. ‘If the town’s changed so much, wouldn’t people believe the worst in everyone, no matter how closely knit together they are?’

‘It doesn’t work that way,’ Betty interjects, still staring at the envelope in her hands. ‘People believe what they are told to believe, even if they don’t realise that they’re being told to. My father has a reputation in this town, a reputation as a good and fair man, and a wonderful father. In the eyes of Riverdale, the only villain in the Cooper family is my mother. In the eyes of Riverdale, my father is a saint for putting up with my mother.’

‘Well that’s misogynistic,’ Veronica gripes, folding her arms across her chest. ‘What did your mother ever do to anyone?’

‘Yeah,’ Jughead frowns, leaning forward. ‘What _did_ your mother do?’

Betty shrugs. ‘I don’t know. But they’ve never been happy, not really. And most people are more perceptive than we give them credit for.’

Veronica sighs. ‘That doesn’t make it fair. Your father can murder someone, but somehow your mother is the villain. Awesome.’

Betty manages a sad smile. The envelope in her hands is starting to feel like lead. Like a weight she has to carry but can’t wait to drop. She wants to open it. She wants the contents to never see the light of day.

‘What’s in the envelope?’ Jughead asks. ‘Your father’s confession?’

He wriggles his eyebrows. He’s clearly joking, but Betty stares down at the envelope with new eyes. There’s a grain of possibility to his words. It’s something her father would do, too. He would do what needed to be done and then he would rid his conscience of anything that would weigh him down. 

Betty flips the envelope over, grazing the seal with shaking fingers. 

She takes a deep breath.

It starts like this:

All is quiet. Betty can’t even hear her own heart breathing.

Time is suspended as she stares into the white. Time is suspended as the red letters fade into nothing. 

She can’t breathe.

She slips her nail under the seal. It goes easily, with no resistance.

She eases the flap open. 

It’s a letter, she thinks. An ordinary letter. 

Except not. 

Maybe it’s a confession. Maybe it’s a plea for help, an apology, an explanation, something Betty can use to prove to herself that her father isn’t the actual Devil. 

She opens the letter.

It’s not a confession. It’s not an apology or an explanation.

It’s a code. 

It’s a _code_. 

Betty knows, right then and there, that somewhere her father is laughing at her. He’s laughing at her for believing that he has one more spot of good left in him. He’s laughing because she believed in him, once again, and he failed her. He’s laughing and laughing and laughing, and all Betty can do is sit and stare in silence. 

She can’t make sense of the code. There is something achingly familiar about it, but she can’t make sense of it. 

She puts her head in her hands. Thrusts the palms of her hands right into her eyes. She has to stop the tears. She has to stop the feeling. The feeling, that once again, she’s proved that she is no match for her father. 

Once again, she’s still the monster. She’s still just as bad as him. 

There is nothing in the envelope that will prove otherwise. He gave her this code because they are the same. He gave this code because he knows she will solve it, even if she never wants to know what it says. 

‘What have you got there?’ Veronica asks, her voice breaking through the fog surrounding Betty’s mind. 

Betty wants to tell her all about the letter, all about the code. All about what it means and what her father thinks of her. 

But when she opens her mouth, no words come out. Nothing happens. Just more silence. 

The letter is pulled out of her grasp. 

‘It’s a code,’ says someone, whose voice sounds a lot like Jughead’s. ‘I don’t know what for though.’

‘Let me see!’ says someone, probably Veronica. ‘Why does Betty have a code?’

The envelope is pulled out of her hands too. 

‘This is,’ says Jughead’s voice, faltering before the end of his sentence. ‘This is Mr Cooper’s handwriting.’

‘How do you know?’ Veronica’s voice asks. ‘I thought you didn’t know him.’

‘In the case files at Cheryl’s house,’ Jughead’s voice answers. ‘There’s an excerpt of a handwritten article. It matches perfectly.’

‘That doesn’t make sense. Why would he give himself away like that?’

‘He didn’t. We don’t even know what’s in the code. We don’t even know if we can solve it. All we know is that there’s an envelope with a code inside. That doesn’t prove anything.’

‘I think it proved something to Betty,’ Veronica’s voice says, and then someone is kneeling in front of her, warm hands covering her own. ‘Betty, can you hear me?’

‘She’s fine!’ Jughead says. ‘She’s just in shock. She probably wasn’t expecting this.’

The warm hands squeeze Betty’s tightly, even though her hands are still covering her eyes. ‘Look at me,’ whispers Veronica. ‘We can help, but only if you let us.’

They can’t help. That much Betty knows for certain. There are some things that can’t be touched by friendship and love. There are some things that remain true, no matter how hard you try to change them.

This is one of those things.

Betty knows she is a monster. She’s made peace with that. She knows that she did not grow up this way, her father moulded her into something unrecognisable. He _made_ her this way. She knows that it’s not her fault she can’t remember being a monster, just the sick feeling that rests at the bottom of her gut. 

Betty knows a lot of things, that’s how she knows that Jughead and Veronica can’t help, not with this. 

This is personal. Hal Cooper had sent a message, and he had sent it to his daughter, no one else.

Betty shakes Veronica hands away, and takes the envelope and letter out of Jughead hands. She folds them into neat squares, and puts it back into her pocket. 

‘Hey!’ Jughead says. ‘We could’ve helped with that!’

Betty smiles sadly. ‘No,’ she whispers, ‘no you couldn’t have.’

It starts like this: 

They file into Archie’s hospital room in single file. First Jughead, then Veronica, and then Betty.

Archie is propped up in bed. He looks better than he did before. Better than Betty thought he would look, having been shot. 

In fact, he looks normal. Like he _hadn’t_ been shot. 

Betty wishes that he hadn’t been. Maybe then the code wouldn’t be resting in her pocket like a blood soaked rock, mocking her. Telling her that she would never be the same. 

Archie grins. ‘I didn’t know you guys were coming!’

‘Of course we would, Archiekins!’ Veronica announces, leaning forward and fluffing up his pillows. ‘You’re our friend!’

Jughead and Betty exchange glances. Technically, Jughead is Archie’s friend. Veronica is the new girl. She doesn’t know anyone, not really. 

And Betty is… 

She doesn’t know what she is, not to Archie. 

Archie winces at the nickname, but somehow manages to keep his smile intact on his face. Betty envies him. She envies his easy way of relating to the world, and she envies the way nothing seems too hard for him, not even keeping his spirits up after being shot. 

Betty hates him, just a little bit. 

She thinks that maybe she hates everyone, just a little bit. 

She moves into the corner of the room, right into the shadows, hoping she can blend in with the wall. It’s not that she doesn’t want to see Archie - she does - but she knows that everything keeps changing, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. 

Maybe her heart beats a little faster when he’s around. Maybe she can’t stop thinking about the look on his face after Jason’s body had been discovered, staring at her through his bedroom window. Maybe she can’t help the way she’s always on the verge of a smile whenever he’s around. 

But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe nothing matters, because in the end Betty has a code to solve and until it’s done she can’t afford to be distracted. She can’t afford to be anything other than what she is now - a shadow. 

She slips out of the room quietly, leaving Veronica and Jughead to fuss over Archie. 

She wonders if they even notice she’s gone. 

She wonders if anyone but her father would. 

It starts like this:

Betty pulls the code out of her pocket. She knows it. She knows she does. The answer is somewhere in the back of her mind, she just needs to find it. 

It’s _there_. There’s no other reason why Hal would leave this with her. There’s no other reason why he would play these mind games unless he had a reason. 

She swallows. Her throat is dry. She wishes that none of this had happened, that when Polly had been accepted into that elite boarding school that her mother had raved about she had gone. That Polly had never met Jason Blossom, or better yet, that Jason Blossom had never met Geraldine Grundy.

Or maybe, what she really wishes, is that Alice Cooper had never become Alice Cooper. That she’d married a different man, or never gotten married at all. That Hal Cooper had never come to Riverdale, or at least had been born somewhere else, where everything was different, where he didn’t become a monster.

Where he didn’t turn his daughter into one. 

Betty wishes for a lot of things, but the one thing she hopes for the most is this:

She hopes that her friends don’t hate her. She hopes that she still _has_ friends when all this is over. She hopes that her life isn’t ruined. She hopes that there are things that she can salvage from the wreckage. 

She hopes that Veronica might still want to be her friend. 

She hopes that Jughead will forgive her.

And she hopes -

She hopes that Archie won’t hate her. 

It starts like this: 

A girl. Alone. A piece of paper that will change her life, more than anything else has ever changed it. 

Betty closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. In and out. In and out. 

Again.

And again.

Until her heart has stopped beating at a mile per minute. Until she doesn’t feel like she’s running out of air. 

Betty swallows. Her throat feels less dry, her hands are still. 

She is calm. She is collected.

She is ready. 

It starts like this:

The code, open in her lap, pencil from the front desk in hand. Crouched over the paper, fluorescent lights washing out her skin. 

The gentle scraping noise of lead on paper, again and again. 

Progress being made, progress being scrapped. 

It starts like this:

The wringing of hands. The loosening of a ponytail. The gritting of teeth.

Betty keeps her eyes down, narrowed and focused. She keeps her feet still. Her pencil is ready. 

But the answer doesn’t come. 

Betty feels a storm brewing, although she doesn’t know where. It’s a feeling, not an actuality. 

Is she close?

The answer is right in front of her, somehow, that much Betty knows. 

It starts like this:

But Betty doesn’t know how it ends. 

* * *

Jughead’s always been a good judge of character. He knows when people are genuine, or when they’re lying, or when they’re simply trying to cover up their real feelings.

That’s how he knows that Betty’s up to something.

She hovers in the corner of Archie’s hospital room, looking distinctly uncomfortable, holding an envelope in her hands, fingers stiff and mouth pinched in a firm line. 

Jughead observes her while Veronica makes awkward conversation with Archie, who valiantly makes jokes about the weather and tries not to look at Betty. 

Jughead doesn’t know what’s in the envelope. Betty hadn’t given him the chance to properly look. 

He wonders if it has something to do with her mother. 

It had come as a shock to discover that his theory was correct. 

It had taken him three days to prove it. He’d gone home to the trailer and prodded his father for answers, but despite being nearly blackout drunk, FP wasn’t spilling any of the details that Jughead desired. He’d tried again in the morning, when his father was hungover but very nearly sober, but had achieved the same results. 

On the subject of Alice Cooper, FP Jones had nothing to say. 

Or, as time would tell, everything.

He’d found the article in the library. A rap sheet, really. The crimes of one Alice Smith, who even with twenty years and a severe remodelling of a reputation still looked remarkably the same.

He’d sat and stared at that article for a long, _long_ , time. So long, in fact, that the librarian had kicked him out just before midnight. 

He’d persuaded her to let him take it home with him, even though, technically, articles dating before 2000 weren’t supposed to leave the premises. 

But he’d been tired and desperate, and it had been nearly midnight. 

He rode on his bike, wind biting into his face and chasing away any sleep he might have hoped of having. This night wasn’t meant for rest. 

It was meant for answers.

FP had been sleeping on the pull out couch. Or, really, had been blackout drunk on the pull out couch, beer bottles scattered around him and the tv still on, tuned to Veronica Mars reruns. 

And so Jughead had waited. He wasn’t going to school, and he didn’t care how long it took. His father would tell him the truth, because surely he deserved it. Surely he had the right to know what had happened to make his father the way that he was. 

FP woke up 5 hours later. Jughead dragged him to the bathroom, ignoring his father’s garbled murmurs of protest. 

The cold water was vicious, and FP, sopping wet, scowled up at Jughead with a vengeance. 

‘Boy,’ he’d growled, glaring at Jughead like he wanted to do something he’d regret, ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ 

And Jughead, for once in his life, had stood his ground. 

‘Getting answers,’ he’d said, and FP had blinked, once, twice, as though he didn’t understand what was happening. As if he couldn’t possibly know which answers Jughead could be referring to. 

‘Answers?’ FP asked groggily, and Jughead had smirked, pulling the article from his pocket. The librarian would probably fine him for getting it creased, but Jughead couldn’t bring himself to think about things he couldn’t afford. 

‘Alice,’ he said grimly, thrusting the article in his father’s face.

Maybe Jughead and his father didn’t have the best relationship. Maybe Jughead was sometimes homeless because of FP’s alcoholism and habit of losing the trailer for weeks, even months at a time. 

But the Jones men still shared at least one thing in common. 

They both could always tell when they were beaten. 

And FP was beaten now. He hung his head, scrubbed his hand across his eyes. 

And smiled, all teeth, all malice. 

‘You sure you wanna know, boy?’ he’d asked, and Jughead had nodded. He hadn’t cared about the consequences of his actions then, and he still didn’t now. He needed to know the full story, he deserved to know it. And he wasn’t going to get it from anyone else, not even Betty. 

And so his father told him a story. 

And it had been a good one. 

Betty slips out of the room. 

Jughead gives her the space. She’s going to need it when he drops the bombshell he’s hiding on her. 

Veronica is casually doing ballet, gracefully twisting her limbs, and blushing delicately when Archie politely applauds. Jughead almost wants to vomit, but he restrains himself. He wonders if he should warn Veronica, if he should tell her about the inevitability of Archie and Betty. He wonders if she truly doesn’t see the way Archie’s eyes track Betty out of the room, the way his face falls as she leaves. He wonders if Veronica knows that this is a race she can’t win, at least not forever. 

He wonders if he realises yet. That they’re already too far gone for each other. That he doesn’t stand a chance, even if he tries his best. Even if he gives it his all. 

In the end, he doesn’t say anything. In the end, he leaves Veronica to her vulnerability and her ballet, and Archie to his thoughts. And he follows in Betty’s footsteps, out into the white corridor. 

She’s sitting in the same chair as before, hunched over a piece of paper - the code from the envelope, Jughead realises. She’s frowning, etching her pencil on the page, again and again and again. 

Jughead will never say it aloud, but he’s worried about her. He wishes that they were closer - close enough that she’d let him in and let him help her. He wishes that he didn’t have to sober his own father up to get the answers that she wouldn't’ give him. 

He sits in the seat next to her, careful not to disturb her frantic brainstorming. 

‘So,’ he says, letting his voice fill the silence. ‘I know.’

Betty doesn’t even glance up at him. ‘Know what?’ she asks, and he can tell that she’s not really listening. 

‘I _know_ ,’ he tries again. ‘I know about your mother.’

Betty shrugs, still focused on her code. ‘That really doesn’t narrow it down. There are a lot of things to know and not know about my mother.’

Jughead grits his teeth and blows his breath out, hard. His bones feel brittle. He feels like he’s about to snap. 

‘I know about your mother and my father,’ he hisses, fighting the urge to shake her, to get to care about the monumental revelation he’s just put in front of her. 

And then -

He sees it. 

She blinks.

Betty turns her head and looks at him. _Really_ looks at him.

Jughead loses his breath.

He’s always known that she’s beautiful. That had never been something difficult to recognise. But he hadn’t always known that her eyes were green. He’s never really been close enough to find out. 

Even when he’d kissed her, that day when he’d climbed up into her bedroom window he hadn’t really looked at her. He’d been nervous, too nervous, and he hadn’t been able to think of anything other than what he was doing. It had been over and done with and before he knew he’d promised to never speak about it again. 

But now he’s wondering if that’s a promise he’ll have to break. Because she’s here. In front of him. And he can barely breathe. 

He’d thought those feelings were a fluke. He’d thought that if he kissed her, he’d confronted those feelings and they’d disappear in a flash. 

But now, just sitting next to her, just gazing into her eyes, everything suddenly seems too real.

His feelings hadn’t gone away. Nothing had changed, not really. He finally understands the appeal of girls. He finally understands the appeal of _romance_. 

He finally understands why even Archie Andrews couldn’t bring himself to stay away. 

‘You figured it out,’ Betty smiles, breaking him out of his reverie. ‘I thought you might. I wasn’t even sure of it myself. But I guess you knowing proves it, right?’

Jughead almost laughs. He can’t believe she’s being so casual about this. He can’t believe that all he had to do to get her to admit what she knew was to admit what _he_ knew. 

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I know that my father and your mother were a… _thing_ back in the day. And I know that it’s something your mother never wanted anyone to find out. _Ever_.’

Betty nods slowly. ‘But there’s a reason for that, you know. There’s a reason for everything around here.’

Jughead rolls his eyes. ‘You’re avoiding this on purpose. Just tell me the truth. You’d be the first person to do so.’

Betty nods. Once. Twice. Three times. Reassuring herself. 

‘There’s nothing Alice Cooper cares about more than her reputation,’ Betty begins. ‘That’s why she didn’t want anyone to know about her past with FP.’

‘Look,’ Jughead snaps. ‘I know my dad’s kind of a mess, but he’s a good man. Despite everything, he never stopped loving her.’

‘That may be the case,’ Betty says, ‘but it doesn’t matter. My mother had a secret. Or something she was trying to keep secret. You know what it is. Don’t you remember what Toni told us, the day I met her?’

Jughead frowns, thinking back to her words that day. She talked about his dad, and Alice and revitalising the Serpents. How they’d gone downhill after his father had fallen off the wagon. 

But there was something else. Something he was missing. 

What could possibly be worth all of the cover up? What was the skeleton that Alice had buried in her closet?

And then it hits him. 

The secret wasn’t a what, it was a _who_.

‘She was pregnant,’ he whispers, and just like that his world is forever changed.

‘Yeah,’ says Betty. ‘I have another sibling.’

Jughead tries to smile at her, but he’s sure it looks more like a grimace.

Still, he lets Betty take his hand in hers, and he lets her lean her head against his shoulder. 

He stares into space for a long, long time. 

Everything is different now. 

Again. 

All he can think about is this sibling. Is the baby also related to him? Was the baby even still _alive_? Was it a boy or girl? Did Alice give it up for adoption?

He doesn’t know. 

But he will. 

This secret is worth it. 

* * *

‘Your dad is the best,’ Veronica declares, munching on a cinnamon donut delicately. ‘I don’t think either of my parents would ever bring me baked goods, not even if I was in the hospital.’

Archie grins. ‘He definitely takes the title for ‘Dad of the Year’. And I’m in the running for ‘Son of the Year’. From now on, every time he tries to ground me, I’ll remind him of that time I took a bullet for him.’

Veronica laughs, too loudly, she’s sure. 

But Archie looks pleased, and for that she’s grateful. For a moment there, she really thought she was losing her magic touch. 

‘So,’ she says, settling into the chair beside Archie’s bed. ‘Tell about yourself, stud.’

Archie gives her a quizzical look. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Everything,’ Veronica smiles, leaning a little bit and giving him her best seductive smile. ‘By the time we’re done, you should be an open book to me, Archiekins!’

Archie winces at the nickname, but he doesn’t protest. He also doesn’t react to her smile, which Veronica decides to file under the fact that he’s just been shot. She also chooses to ignore that he’d been looking at Betty wistfully before she’d hightailed out of there, Jughead hot on her heels.

‘Well,’ Archie begins, ‘I’m really not all that interesting. My biggest claim to fame is being Riverdale’s resident Troy Bolton.’

‘Ah,’ Veronica sighs, leaning her chin against the palm of her hand. ‘Teen Outlander pulled between music and football, so unsteady on this journey we call life.’

Archies laughs out loud, and Veronica feels insanely proud of herself. ‘You _could_ say that, I guess. At the moment, while I love football, I kind of feel like music might be my true calling. But I don’t know if I actually have any talent.’

Veronica frowns. ‘Why would you think that? You’re good at everything, Archiekins. Why would music be the exception?’

‘Because,’ Archie groans. ‘What if Ms Grundy was only telling me those things because of what was going on between us? What if I’m actually tone deaf and I can’t sing to save my life? And what if my songs are actually the worst things ever written and Ms Grundy only liked them because she thought they were about her?’

‘ _Were_ they about her?’ Veronica wonders aloud, intrigued. At Archie’s pointed glare, she swallows. ‘I’m sure that’s not true in the slightest though. You’re Archie Andrews! I’ve only been in this town for a week, and I already know that around here, that means something.’

‘Yeah, but…’ Archie trails off. 

Veronica claps her hands. ‘I’ve just had the most wonderful idea!’

Archie gives her a fond look, as if she’s a cute puppy excited about bringing back a stick. Veronica’s not sure she likes the implications of that metaphor, but she _does_ like the way he’s looking at her. It makes her feel like she’s basking in golden light.

Like she can do anything. 

It’s only right that she return the favour. 

Fred had brought Archie’s guitar to the hospital, as well as some comics and some video games, as soon as it had become clear that Archie wasn’t getting out any time soon. It sits in the corner of the room, desperately out of tune and desperately needing to be played. 

‘How about…’ Veronica starts. ‘How about you play me a song?’ 

Archie winces. ‘What if I’m out of practice and genuinely terrible?’

Veronica leans forward. This time her smile isn’t seductive. This time, it doesn’t need to be. Archie’s looking at her like he’s never looked at her before. Like she’s worth something. Worth something to _him_. 

‘What if you’re not?’ she breathes. 

Archie blinks, once, twice. He’s adorable, his hair rumbled and eyes wide. Veronica likes him so much she thinks she might die. She knows just how dramatic she sounds and she doesn’t care. Archie is nice and the sound of his voice does funny things to the butterflies in her stomach. She wants to keep staring into his eyes forever, but Archie’s moved on. 

He’s grinning at his guitar in the corner of the room. Veronica gets it for him. 

It takes a minute for Archie to get properly comfortable enough in the bed to play and not injure himself in the process. He winces a little when he sits up straighter - and in turn Veronica winces as well. 

‘Are you alright?’ She asks, gliding her hand over his stomach gently. ‘You didn’t tear any of your stitches, did you?’

Archie gulps, and Veronica pulls her hand back. A thrill runs down the length of her spine. _Finally_ she’s getting somewhere. 

‘Okay,’ murmurs Archie. ‘This is rough. I only really started it a couple of days ago, but I’m really happy with what I’ve got so far.’

Veronica feels her breath leap in her throat. A few days ago? Did that mean?

Had Archie written a song about her?

‘Bear with me,’ Archie smiles, and brings his hand down on the strings. 

The strumming pattern is gentle, slow. 

_There’s no warning, when everything changes…_

_You let down your guard, and I saw something strange_

_I thought ‘she’s not made for this world, and neither am I’_

_Cause you make me wanna be stronger than I am_

_And maybe I’m reaching, misplacing a feeling_

_There’s no way to know but to try…_

Archie looks up at her, smiling slightly. Veronica tries to smile back, but her mouth won’t move. 

_So give me tonight…_

_I don’t know much, but I know this feels right_

_So give me tonight…_

_If you carry the torch, I follow the light…_

Archie plays a little melody, picking out the strings. 

_I follow the light…_

He ends on one final chord, and Veronica half heartedly claps. 

‘Well?’ Archie asks, smiling hesitantly. ‘What did you think?’

‘It was incredible,’ whispers Veronica, but she knows her face has fallen. She can’t help it. She’d thought she’d finally broken through to something. That maybe Archie _did_ like her, and if he didn’t yet, he _could_. 

But that song had shown her the reality of the situation. 

Because that song wasn’t about Ms Grundy. 

And it _definitely_ wasn’t about Veronica. 

Which left only one possible candidate. 

It was about Betty. 

* * *

It starts like this: 

They walk together in silence. Archie can’t think of anything to say. The words don’t come easily to him like they did with Veronica.

He doesn’t know what that means. 

He also doesn’t know what they’re doing. Somehow, despite all other evidence pointing to the contrary, Fred had convinced Archie’s doctor to let him go home, insisting that his son’s recovery would be better spent in a familiar environment. 

And it had worked. 

And perhaps, something even more perplexing, was that the doctor had allowed Archie to walk home. 

And the person accompanying him also happened to be his former mortal enemy, the girl who haunted his dreams, the daughter of the man who had shot him.

Betty.

The wind is blowing gently through the trees. The last autumn leaves are dropping to the ground, and they crunch under his feet. They reach his house quietly. The only sound Archie can hear is his own breath, in and out, and in and out. 

‘So,’ Betty murmurs, turning at last to face him. She looks different in the twilight. Vulnerable, younger. Like the girl in his dreams, the one with no shadows under her eyes, no shadows in her life. 

‘So,’ he replies, but he still can’t think of anything to say. There’s so much he _wants_ to say, but the words won’t form on his tongue. The silence closes around his throat and threatens to strangle him. 

‘I wanted to apologise,’ Betty says, looking at his face but not looking him in the eyes. ‘I know that everything that’s happened is a little bit because of me.’

Archie shakes his head. ‘That’s not fair,’ he mutters, and it isn’t. Nothing Betty did ever put him in danger. But he knows that she blames herself regardless. And he knows that she will, no matter what he says on the matter. ‘There’s a big difference between you and your father,’ he says. ‘You don’t control him, and you can’t stop him.’

But that doesn’t stop him from trying. 

‘He only started seeing you as a target when we became friends,’ Betty says, and her eyes are glassy. Archie wants to reach down and stop the tears from ever falling, but he keeps his hands to himself. ‘He only wanted to hurt you because it would hurt me.’

_Does it?_ Archie wants to ask. _Does it hurt you that I’ve been hurt?_

But he doesn’t verbalise the thought. Betty’s shivering slightly, even though it hasn’t gotten cold yet. He knows she’s hurting. She’s probably hurting even more than anyone else. He doesn’t want to add to her burden by trying to make her understand her feelings, her emotions. 

By making her understand his feelings.

His emotions. 

He knows he has them now, at least. He knows the hatred that coiled in the pit of his stomach wasn’t really hatred. He knows now that it was something else entirely. 

He knows that somehow his feelings have twisted around on themselves and rearranged. He knows that because he wrote a song, the night he’d been so close to Betty Cooper that he could see the golden flecks in the green of her eyes. The night he’d sworn he hated her and wanted to kiss her. 

The night before he had looked out his bedroom window, in the soft morning light and seen her looking back at him. 

The feelings are there now. They exist. 

But he still can’t find the words to describe it, even though he’d written the song. All he sees is yellow light, golden days stretching far and far beyond, and Betty, standing in front of him, reaching out her hands. 

It starts like this:

The sun is setting, but Archie lets the girl next door take his hands in hers. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers. Her hands are smaller than his, and they feel fragile, delicate in his own. He wants to cradle her close to his chest, and he wants to tell her that everything is going to be okay. 

And he never wants to let go. 

‘It’s okay,’ he whispers, and it is and it isn’t. Everything he knows about Betty and her father come rushing back then, and he feels cold swallow him up, head to toe. 

Somehow, he knows that what they have can’t last, if they even have anything at all. There is too much between them, too much bloodshed and fear and history. Too much of what he doesn’t want to think about. 

Somehow, he knows that he has to let go of her hands. He has to leave her in the darkness, turn away from the light and retreat back to the place where everything had begun and ended. He has to turn away from the girl he might feel everything for. The girl he once thought he felt nothing for. 

He knows this is the end of everything they’ve built. The end of everything they’ve felt. He knows that this is his stop. This is where the train leaves him at the station. 

He knows that sometimes the right girl turns out to be the wrong girl. He knows that timing is everything. And he knows that time is on no one’s side. 

Betty’s still staring at him, all big eyes and unshed tears and he wants to wrap his arms around her. He wants to tell her that everything’s going to be alright, even though he knows that it isn’t. 

He wants.

And he wants. 

And he wants. 

He wants so badly that he can’t think straight. He never thought that it was possible to want this much, but somehow he does. He looks at Betty, really looks at her, and the urge to kiss her, to crush his mouth against hers and taste her, _really_ taste her, is overwhelming. 

He never thought it would be Betty that he wanted, but he does.

He wants her so much that it scares him. 

But he knows, deep down, where that feeling is coiled in his gut that he wants what he can never have.

And maybe it’s peace. Maybe it’s happiness. Maybe it’s the return to normality. 

Maybe it’s Betty.

Maybe it’s always been Betty.

Maybe it always will be. 

Maybe it never was.

It starts like this:

He looks at her one more time. He knows that she can see what he’s thinking. Even in the short renewal of their friendship she knows him better than he knows himself. 

But she can’t see the want. The need. The desire. She can’t see what he’s feeling, deep down inside. He barely knows what he’s feeling. All he knows is that he can’t have her, not the way he wants her. 

So she can never know. 

And she never will. He’ll bury those feelings forever, if that’s what she needs.

And it is. 

So he paints his face with regret. Regret for the ending of burgeoning friendship. Regret for what they will lose, not the possibility of what they might have gained. 

And Betty, keen and all knowing, sees what he’s showing her, not what’s underneath. 

She can see what he can’t say. 

But she can only see what he wants her to. 

Archie turns away. 

He drops Betty’s hand. His eyes feel mysteriously wet. His legs feel wooden. 

He hears the sob that Betty swallows. The gulp of her breath. The acceptance of the inevitable. He hears her retreating footsteps, back into the house of her nightmares.

He hates that he’s the one who has made her feel this way, but he refuses to turn around. Everything is better like this. Everything is better if he leaves her alone and simply refuses to want. 

Veronica is nice. She’d made him laugh and she seemed to like him. She wasn’t Betty, but she _was_ a return to normality, and that was exactly what he needed. And she was easy to talk to. She’d proved that when they’d gotten breakfast at Pops, and she’d proved it again in his hospital room that morning. 

He resolves himself to seek her out when he can. Maybe he doesn’t like her like _that_ yet, but maybe he will. After all, the night he’d first seen her at Pops had been unforgettable. And he’s willing to chase that feeling until he catches it. 

But still, he knows that when he closes his eyes at night, it’ll be Betty haunting his dreams once again. 

He waits a little longer, until he can no longer hear anything but the wind. All in quiet, and all is dark. Fred will be home from the hospital soon, and he won’t be happy to see Archie still standing outside. 

Archie turns around. The street around him is dark. 

Like every single light has been snuffed out. 

Archie stays outside for what feels like a long, long time, staring out at the silhouettes of the trees. He isn’t cold. But he is lonely. 

And he can still feel the want, buried deep in his gut. 

When he finally makes it back to his room, he looks out his window instinctively. 

But Betty’s curtains are shut. 

It starts like this: innocence, friendship, hope.

It ends like this: an ache, deep within, and the boy next door, lying awake long after everyone else has gone to sleep.

All alone. 

* * *

Jughead is brooding. He can’t help it. It’s in his nature. 

Pops is empty, save for him and Pop. Jughead’s on his third cup of coffee - black, naturally, and his fingers are starting to hurt from all the typing he’s been doing. 

It turns out that sharing a possible sibling with the object of your affection is quite the inspiration. 

The bell jingles, and Jughead looks up instinctively, and immediately looks back down, cowering in his booth and trying to look like he isn’t here.

He has no such luck. Once again, Veronica Lodge slides into the seat across from him, looking completely put together and completely out of place. 

‘What are you up to tonight, Jones?’ Veronica asks, and Jughead notices that she rarely calls anyone by their name. He’s been Jones, and Torombolo, and even Juggiekins, on one occasion that he and Veronica would both rather never be repeated. 

‘Not much,’ he says.

_Reeling over the fact that I might share a sibling with the girl I might be totally in love with._

‘You?’ he asks.

‘Oh, nothing much.’ Veronica sighs. ‘I’m just wondering if I’m destined for heartbreak or whether I just have astronomically bad luck.’

Jughead may not know too much about the inner workings of male/female relationships, but he does know the signs when he sees them. 

‘Boy problems?’ he asks. 

‘You could say that,’ Veronica answers. ‘What do you do when the boy you like writes a song about the girl you want to be your best friend, but said song makes you crazy jealous and you can’t face either said friend _or_ said boy?’

‘Oh,’ Jughead says, realising what he’s accidentally stumbled into a little too late. ‘You’re talking about Betty and Archie.’

‘So there _is_ a Betty and Archie?’ Veronica asks, eyes widening. ‘I knew it! Kevin was totally on the money about them, by the way.’ 

‘There is and there isn’t,’ Jughead replies, choosing to ignore the part about Kevin. ‘If you mean the fact that they have feelings for each other and will never confront them, then there is, but if you don’t mean that, then there isn’t.’

Veronica groans. ‘It’s just my luck to fall for the guy who’s already pining after someone else, even if he doesn’t realise it.’

Jughead raises an eyebrow. ‘You’ve known him for a week.’

‘And you’ve known Betty your entire life!’ Veronica exclaims. ‘And you’ve only just worked up the nerve to kiss her - a move which failed spectacularly, by the way.’

Jughead wants to bury his face in his hands - or better yet, go back in time and take that kiss back all together. ‘She told you about that?’

Veronica looks pleased to be making him squirm. ‘She did. And to be honest, it’s not that she doesn’t like you…’

She trails off. 

Jughead grimaces. ‘It’s that she doesn’t like me like _that_ ,’ he finishes. ‘Don’t worry, I’m no stranger to the friendzone.’

Veronica winces. ‘I’m sorry, Tormobolo. I know how much this sucks, especially because from what literally _everyone_ has told me, Betty and Archie will never act on anything, no matter how much they like each other. They’re afraid of rejection, I guess.’

Jughead frowns. ‘I mean, Betty’s father _did_ shoot Archie.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Veronica says. ‘I forgot about that part.’

She returns her attention to him again. ‘What are you writing about tonight? The inner workings of the conspiracy to cover up Betty’s murderous side and the killing of Jason Blossom? Or are you journaling your inner woe?’

‘ _Actually_ ,’ Jughead starts, and before he can stop himself, he drops the latest bombshell. ‘I just found out that my father and Betty’s mother dated. And that she was pregnant, most likely with my father’s baby. Which also means that Betty and I might share a sibling.’

‘Hm,’ Veronica muses. ‘Maybe that’s why she didn’t want to kiss you!’

Jughead contemplates sticking a fork in his eye. 

Veronica sees the expression on his face and schools her own into something resembling sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, Jughead,’ she says, finally calling him by his name. ‘I know something about being second best, and I also know something about everything turning out exactly the opposite of what you planned.’

Jughead tilts his head. ‘Your father?’

Shrugging her shoulders, Veronica sighs. ‘Always. He’s a monster, and a criminal, and yet he’s still my father. I thought he would always be the hero. And he still is, but only in my story. He’s the villain in everyone else’s, even my father’s.’

‘Before we lost everything, I knew exactly what my life was going to be. I might have partied too much and tried too little, but in the end I knew where I was going and how I was going to get there. I was going to graduate high school, and then I’d straighten myself out. I’d get into Harvard through connections and old money, but then I’d prove my worth. And I’d graduate with honours and go to business school somewhere, maybe in France, maybe in Switzerland.’

She takes a breath. ‘And then I was going to take over Lodge Industries. And I was going to rule the world.’

She looks off into the distance, a wistful expression on her face. Jughead can’t relate to the future she had planned, but he empathises with her. He knows what it’s like to have the rug pulled out from under your feet. He knows what it’s like to want things you can never have. 

‘And now?’ He asks, genuinely curious.

‘And now none of that will ever happen. Now everything I had means nothing. The future I thought I would have is gone. And the one thing I thought no one could ever take away from me makes people whisper about me when I pass them. In the street _and_ in the halls.’

‘The one thing no one could ever take away?’ Jughead wonders aloud.

‘My name,’ Veronica smiles. ‘My name means nothing anymore.’

Jughead shakes his head. ‘That’s not true. Names mean everything. That will never change. Just look at Alice Cooper. She used to be a member of a gang - the Southside Serpents. And her last name used to be Smith. I’m pretty sure she has a record.’

‘So?’ Veronica asks.

‘ _So_ ,’ Jughead continues. ‘She married a murderer and changed her name and everything about her was forgotten. She got a fresh start, all because she left her old name behind. Her reputation is perfect, these days, even after everything that happened between Polly and Jason.’

He turns to look at her properly. Under the red lights of Pops she looks vibrant where others would look washed out. ‘Your name means everything. And it means nothing. The choice is up to you.’

Veronica smiles. ‘Thanks, Torombolo. That actually… really helps. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Jughead grins.

‘Oh,’ Veronica adds, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, what kind of name is Jughead, anyway?’

‘It’s a nickname,’ he says. ‘The rest you’ll have to earn.’

Veronica takes a sip of his coffee. And even though it’s sugarless and stone cold, she doesn’t flinch. ‘Then I guess I’ll have to earn it,’ she says. 

They settle back into their respective sides of the booth, watching the gentle hum of the traffic outside the window. It’s easy to forget about the horrors they’ve seen this week, in the warm walls of Pops, the last safe place in Riverdale. The last _innocent_ place. 

Even the shooting of Archie Andrews can’t taint Pops. 

‘You know,’ Jughead muses, eyeing Veronica’s black cape. A friend of mine once told me that she pictured all of my friends looking like Emily the Strange.’

‘You have friends?’ Veronica asks, and once upon a time Jughead would have thought her stuck up and rude. 

But then Veronica smiles at him, and Jughead smiles back. He can’t help it - her joy is infectious. 

‘You’re in luck, Jones,’ she says. ‘Because I’ve been told I look like Emily the Strange.’

And so Jughead orders more coffee.

* * *

Betty paces her room in silence. Her closed curtains are mocking her, she can feel it. 

And somewhere out there she knows that Archie is mocking her too. 

In fact, the world is mocking her. She’d opened herself up, just a little, and all it had done in return was hurt her. 

Archie didn’t want to be friends. Jughead wanted to be more. 

And she didn’t know what the hell Veronica wanted. 

What she wants is also a mystery. 

Does she _really_ want to discover her father’s motivations? There’s no doubt in her mind that he killed Jason, but does it really matter why? Even if she could find that out, it still wouldn’t lead to any concrete evidence. Hal Cooper was too careful, too precise. He never did anything by mistake. The only reason he’d let Archie live was because they couldn’t prove anything.

He probably had an alibi for the night of Jason’s murder. He probably had an alibi for the day Archie was shot. 

Everything her father had done since killing Jason was to taunt her. To make it known that he was the one in charge. That he was the one holding all of the cards. 

Betty hates it. She hates being feeling out of control and she hates being powerless. She hates being taunted by one of the only people she thought she could always count on. 

And she hates the fact that there is nothing she can do about anything because of it. 

She stares at her curtains in anger. Archie’s probably asleep, dreaming about whatever it is that heartless teenage boys dream about. 

No.

She doesn’t mean that.

Archie’s probably dreaming about the things he says he can’t remember, about the moment when the man who’d lived next door to him his whole life had shot him point blank all because he’d dared to care about Betty, even if it was only for a moment.

Betty throws herself onto the floor in a mix of shame and fury. She doesn’t like feeling helpless, but she also doesn’t like being rejected. 

Surely there is something she can do, something she can _say_ , to make Archie realise that his efforts at heroics were unnecessary. Surely she can make him see that she can handle being friends with him. That she isn’t in any danger. 

And that’s what’s really driving her anger. Because she’s _not_ in any danger. She never has been. 

If anything, Archie being shot proved that _he_ was the one in danger. Not her. 

And yet he was the one making the sacrifices. He was the one who was trying to save _her_. 

Betty isn’t entirely certain about what’s happening between them - if it’s truly just friendship, or something more.

But she does know that she doesn’t need a saviour, and she does know that she can’t stand idly by and wait for her father to show his hand. 

She has to do something.

_Now_.

And then she remembers.

The code.

It’s still right where she left it, folded up in her pocket. The creases are worn, and the lettering has faded slightly, but it’s still readable.

And perhaps more importantly, it’s still _solvable_. 

Betty frowns, glancing over it again. Nothing jumps out at her, but once again there is something achingly familiar about it. Something reminds her of a simpler time, she just can’t put her finger on what. 

The house is quiet. Alice is working late at the Register, and Hal is god knows where, doing god knows what. Betty is alone with her thoughts.

Alone with the code. 

She wrecks her brain and cracks each knuckle on every one of her fingers. She feels jittery and nervous and on the verge of a breakdown. 

She’s seen this code before, she knows it. 

She just can’t quite pinpoint where. 

And then it hits her.

This is the point. 

She _does_ know this code. Of course she does!

The object of this code isn’t the code itself, it’s what she has to do to find it. Hal had given it to her for a reason, and it wasn’t because he thought that she was the smartest, or that he thought it was unsolvable.

It was because she _could_ solve it. Because he wanted her to.

Because that was what this was about. That was what everything was about.

Hal didn’t want to be caught. He wanted to prove that they were the same.

He wanted to prove that Betty was exactly like him.

A killer. With violence running through her blood. A darkness in her soul. 

She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. She _would_ solve this code, but she would do it for herself. And she would do it for Archie. For Jason. For Cheryl, and Jughead, and Veronica and _Riverdale_. 

She would do it for herself. She would prove that they were nothing alike and she would use this code to find something to prove Hal guilty.

Because that was what she did. Even as a child, Betty had loved playing the hero, solving mysteries, just like Nancy Drew -

Nancy Drew.

_Nancy Drew_.

And Betty knows.

She runs to her wardrobe, flinging open the doors with vigour and going through her belongings in a frenzy. She _knows_ she still has it, the Nancy Drew codebook that she used as a part of her childhood games.

And there, wedged between some rollerblades and several Famous Five books, is what she’s looking for. Betty clutches the book to her chest like it’s the Holy Grail.

And maybe it is.

She pages through the alphabet, studying the symbols closely, scratching their corresponding letters out onto the paper carefully.

When she’s finally done, she stares at the message in dismay. It isn’t a clue. It doesn’t even lead to what he’s going to do next.

Except.

Except for the very last line. 

Betty reads over the words again, trying to discern something, _anything_ from the words. 

_Riverdale is not innocent. It’s a town of hypocrites, degenerates, and criminals. My wrath is the price of your lies, your secrets, your sins. I will not stop. I cannot be stopped. I am the wolf. You are the flock. This is the bloodletting. You will hear from me again._

And then, the very last line.

_We must do better_.

The words she’d heard spoken to her throughout her entire life. From Hal, from Alice, and even, on occasion, from Polly. 

It strikes Betty like a thunderbolt. Hal had been planning this for a very long time. His vengeance. His punishments for the ‘sinners’ of Riverdale.

It starts like this:

A girl and a message. A darkness on the edge of town, creeping slowly towards to heart. 

Betty knows how it started. 

But that means nothing now.

She doesn’t know how it ends. 

She doesn’t know if it will.

The words of the code rattle around her head.

_You will hear from me again_. 

This is only the beginning. 

_This_ is war.

Riverdale will never be the same again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on tumblr @[betty-coopers](https://betty-coopers.tumblr.com) and on twitter @[ahobbitinahole](https://twitter.com/ahobbitinahole). feel free to come and talk to me anytime!
> 
> the title and all chapter titles are drawn from Zara Larsson’s ‘ruin my life’.
> 
> also, the best person in the world, [emma](https://barchiee.tumblr.com), has made a couple of edits for this fic (which have absolutely blown me away!!!) you can find them [here](https://barchiee.tumblr.com/post/635719081150054400/barchie-fanfic-album-art-thephantomsandjulie) and [here](https://barchiee.tumblr.com/post/643533819644936192/ruin-my-life-a-series-excerpts-scenes)!


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